I 


Wayside  Experiences 


A  Collection  of  Plain  Tales 
as  Heard   Along  the    Road 


BY 


C.  ELTON  BLANCHARD,  M.  D. 

Author  of,  "The  Letters  of  Dr.  Betterman,"  "Medical 
Dollars  and  Sense,"  "The  Nut  Cracker  and  Other 
Human  Ape  Fables,"  etc.  etc. 


"We  are  no  other  than  a  moving  row 

Of  Magic  Shadow-shapes  that  come  and  go 

Round  with  the  Sun-illumined  Lantern  held 
In  Midnight  by  the  Master  of  the  Show; 

But  helpless  Pieces  of  the  Game  He  plays 

Upon  this  Chequer-board  of  Nights  and  Days; 

Hither  and  thither  moves,  and  checks,  and  slays, 
And  one  by  one  back  in  the  Closet  lays." 

— Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


PHYSICIANS  DRUG  NEWS  COMPANY 

Publishers 
NEWARK,  NEW  JERSEY 


Copyrighted,  1913 
By  C.  E.  BLANCHARD 


£639 


To 
H.  D.  R. 


284521 


CONTENTS  Page 

Preface    6 

The    Prologue    8 

Dr.  Jones'  Farm  for  Down  and  Outs   11 

The    Price   He   Paid    •  • 39 

The   Confession   of   a  Second   Wife    57 

Dr.  Xury  's  Marvelous  Cure    81 

Mrs.   King's   Boarding   House    -• 101 

Sowing  and  Reaping  Wild  Oats   121 

Bessie   Tompkins '   Test 141 

The   Biophoretic    Healer    161 

Susan   Hillis— Theoretical   Mother 173 

Joel   Eigby's   Monument    191 

How  and  Why  I  Failed  as  a  Wife 207 

The  Epilogue 245 


PREFACE. 


It  is  an  age  of  plain  speaking.  When  any 
good  purpose  is  to  be  served  it  is  well  to  call 
a  spade  by  its  right  name.  The  ancient  and 
pseudo-respectable  prudery  is  giving  place  to 
an  earnest  and  intelligent  desire  to  know  more 
of  the  physical  meaning  of  life.  While  teach- 
ers and  preachers  have  been  busy  with  the 
fine  points  of  morals  and  ethics,  the  terrible 
scourge  of  venereal  disease  has  been  stealing 
into  our  homes,  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  de- 
stroying innocent  victims  by  thousands. 

Fiction  writers  have  assumed  or  been  al- 
lowed all  manner  of  freedom  in  our  current 
literature,  even  of  the  better  class,  so  called, 
in  dealing  with  suggestive  situations,  and 
illicit  sex  complications  are  boldly  described, 
but  any  fair  and  truthful  exposition  of  real 
dangers,  even  though  presented  in  proper, 
though  plain  language,  has  been  tabooed.  The 
cry  of  the  child,  until  recently,  has  not  been 
heard — the  cry  that  demanded  the  right  to  be 
well  born,  of  clean  and  healthy  parents;  the 
call  of  the  unborn  to  be  given  a  fair  chance,  to 
have  used  in  its  behalf  the  best  that  science 
and  progress  could  offer,  all  this  has  been  un- 
til recently  ignored. 

Now,  a  new  era  is  dawning.  We  will  teach 
all  these  things,  these  eugenic  things,  in  our 
schools,  in  our  fiction  and  in  other  literature 
read  by  the  common  people,  and  eventually 
a  general  knowledge  along  these  lines  will 
crystallize  a  strong  public  opinion  into  Law 


and  that  designed  to  protect  the  innocent  and 
exclude  all  menace  to  health  and  happiness 
from  home  life. 

These  stories  may  be  premature.  They  may 
be  timely  or  untimely;  they  may  be  good  or 
bad  fiction  as  judged  by  the  usual  standards 
of  literary  criticism.  They  have  at  least  one 
merit  none  can  deny  to  them:  sincerity  and 
reality,  for  they  are  bits  of  real  life  gathered 
from  the  writer's  diversified  experiences.  Let 
them  serve  you  if  they  may,  to  some  good  end. 

C.  ELTON  BLANCHARD. 
Youngstown,  Ohio,  March,  1913. 


THE  PROLOGUE. 


I  had  a  vision  of  life  as  a  great  Highway, 
and  along  this  the  human  race  was  traveling — 
a  multitude  of  hustling,  jostling  creatures,  each 
earnestly  intent  upon  his  own  progress,  show- 
ing but  little,  if  any,  concern  about  the  condi- 
tion of  others. 

I  was  in  the  throng,  but  why  I  knew  not, 
nor  had  I  knowledge  of  how  I  got  there.  Of 
those  passing  near  I  asked,  "  Whither  are  we 
bound?"  but  none  gave  heed  to  offer  a  satis- 
factory answer.  I  only  knew  that  we  were 
traveling  on  and  on. 

Of  others  I  sought  what  seemed  for  the  mo- 
ment a  more  reasonable  inquiry,  and  I  asked, 
"From  whence  came  we?"  and  yet  even  to  this 
fair  question  I  had  no  answer — except  the  si- 
lence of  ages. 

And  often  and  anon  there  came  those  who 
separated  themselves  from  the  pressing  throng 
and  fell  by  the  Wayside.  Each  of  these  weary 
travelers  carried  a  burden,  some  of  one  sort, 
some  another,  and  this  burden  they  called  Ex- 
perience. 

They  could  not  lay  it  down — they  could  not 
give  it  up.  Though  in  telling  of  it,  often  they 
shed  bitter  tears,  still  they  seemed  to  prize  it 
with  a  weird  kind  of  tenderness.  Sometimes 
it  seemed  to  me  the  more  of  sorrow  this  bur- 
den bore,  the  more  the  care-worn  traveler 
cherished  it. 


So  we  passed  on  and  on,  out  into  the  dim 
and  distant  shadows  of  the  falling  night,  each 
hngging  to  himself  his  burden. 

I  carried  mine — I  could  not  carry  jours. 


Dr.  Jones'  Farm  for  Down 
and  Outs. 


I  never  knew  when  or  why  we  began  calling 
him  "Sire."  It  was  away  back  there,  at  least 
thirty  years  ago  that  we  met — Benjamin  Jones 
and  I.  He  was  a  student  at  the  Harvard  Medi- 
cal School  and  I,  a  sub-editor  on  the  old  Arena 
magazine  that  homed  about  Copley  Square. 
We  both  roomed  around  on  St.  Botolph  St., 
and  ate  our  meals  at  Mrs.  Avery's  dining  room 
for  students. 

Even  in  those  days  Ben  Jones  was  a  quiet, 
thoughtful  chap,  widely  read  and  ready  to  talk 
on  any  subject,  if  one  could  get  him  alone.  He 
had  little  to  say  among  people  and  many 
thought  him  very  reserved.  In  the  women  with 
whom  we  came  into  contact  he  had  no  interest 
whatever.  I  doubt  if  more  than  two  or  three 
of  all  the  students  at  the  school  ever  came  to 
know  him  and  to  appreciate  the  greatness  of 
his  mind  and  character. 

On  Sunday  it  was  our  custom  to  take  long 
walks — Ben  and  I — historical  jaunts,  we  used 
to  call  them.  We  tramped  to  all  the  old  places 
of  interest — visited  the  shrines  at  Cambridge, 
Bunker  Hill,  Salem,  and  once,  on  a  three  days 
trip,  we  went  as  far  as  Plymouth  looking  for 
the  rock.  Our  favorite  walk  was  out  to  School- 
master's Hill,  Franklin  Park,  Roxbury  way, 
and  there  under  the  scrubby  pines  we  would 


12  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

sit  by  the  hour,  talking  of  life  and  things.  We 
tried  to  imagine  we  sat  on  the  very  spot  where 
Emerson  the  schoolmaster,  used  to  sit,  dream- 
ing his  dreams  of  the  philosophy  of  life.  It 
was  there  I  think,  I  first  called  him  "Sire," 
because  I  said,  he  had  become  my  mental  fath- 
er. However  it  may  have  happened,  it  matters 
little,  yet  during  all  these  years  Dr.  Jones  has 
been  "Sire"  to  me.  We  have  met  but  once 
since  the  days  in  Boston,  but  we  have  kept  up 
a  peculiar  and  wonderful  correspondence.  In 
one  of  his  letters  he  said,  "I'd  rather  be  called 
Sire  than  king.  I'd  rather  be  father  and 
brother  to  those  I  meet  in  this  life,  than  the 
ruler  of  a  kingdom,  great  or  small."  Dr.  Benj. 
Jones  is  the  ruler  of  a  wonderful  little  kingdom 
now,  all  his  own. 

When  the  college  days  were  over  Ben  Jones, 
M.D.,  went  back  to  Ohio,  and  settled  in  a  large 
industrial  town,  while  I  was  soon  drawn  into 
the  maelstrom  of  New  York  publishing  life. 
There  I  ground  out  copy  at  one  desk  and  an- 
other, but  never  at  a  desk  of  my  own.  Often 
I  have  had  large  salaries,  but  most  of  the  mon- 
ey they  paid  me  got  away  again,  and  now  at 
fifty  I  am  rich  only  in  experience.  I  am  old 
for  my  years,  gray  and  bald — about  six  months 
to  a  year  from  the  poor-house  at  any  given 
time.  At  times  I  feel  completely  down  and 
out,  mentally  and  physically.  New  York  is  a 
great  place  to  feed  a  man  up  with  a  good  salary 
then  work  him  to  death.  The  salary  they  take 
away  again  for  board  and  clothes,  and  when 


DR.  JONES'  FARM  FOR  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  13 

he  is  worn  down  to  the  old  plug  or  has-been 
class,  they  turn  him  loose  in  the  back  pasture 
to  graze  or  die,  just  as  he  chooses.  There  is 
a  new  grist  of  young  men  coming  to  the  hopper 
each  year.  No  room  for  Down-and-Outs  in 
New  York. 

Not  long  ago  I  had  a  letter  from  "Sire" 
telling  me  about  his  farm — "Dr.  Jones'  Health 
Farm"  he  calls  it — and  inviting  me  to  come  for 
a  stay,  long  or  short,  just  as  my  pleasure  dic- 
tated. For  months  I  had  been  dragging  down 
to  my  work,  doing  my  daily  grind  on  pure 
nerve  force — feeling  in  every  cell  of  my  body 
and  brain  the  call  for  rest — rest  even  if  the 
grave  had  to  open  to  give  it.  How  rest  came 
I  cared  little.  When  I  got  this  letter  about 
the  farm,  I  made  my  plans  to  go.  I  told  them 
at  the  office  if  I  did  not  come  back  they  need 
not  wonder. 

My  journey  out  to  Ohio,  neither  interested 
me  nor  will  it  interest  you.  Somehow  I  got 
to  the  little  station  and  "Sire"  was  there  wait- 
ing for  me.  For  a  moment  he  clasped  me  by 
the  shoulders,  looking  me  squarely  in  the  face. 

"Well,  you  needed  to  come.  I  can  see 
that." 

"I  guess  I  did,  Sire,"  I  replied. 

"It  does  beat  all  how  the  city  wears  'em 
out,"  leading  me  toward  the  auto-bus  waiting 
for  us. 

We  rode  down  through  the  village  but  at 
the  outskirts,  he  dismissed  the  conveyance,  and 
we  got  down  to  walk. 


14  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"It's  only  a  mile  or  so  from  here.  We  used 
to  walk  and  we  can  now  I  am  sure.  As  we 
go  along,  I  will  tell  you  about  the  farm." 

Walking  and  talking,  we  presently  came 
out  through  the  fields,  for  which  the  road  had 
been  deserted,  to  a  sloping  hillside  and  looking 
down  into  the  valley  we  could  see  the  farm 
buildings  among  the  trees. 

"There  it  is,"  said  the  doctor.  "Six  years 
ago  I  left  the  city  to  retire  after  twenty-five 
years  of  practice  and  came  back  to  this  little 
valley.  It  was  my  cradle  and  it  will  be  my  grave. 
I  had  saved  a  few  thousand  dollars — enough 
to  keep  me  the  rest  of  my  days  I  thought.  I 
had  the  old  place  from  the  estate  of  my  father 
— not  all  the  land  we  have  now,  but  enough 
for  a  retired  doctor.  This  home  had  been  in 
our  family  for  many  years.  It  was  my  great 
grandfather,  Benjamin  Jones,  after  whom  I 
was  named,  who  came  with  the  early  New  Eng- 
land emigration  to  the  Western  Reserve.  1 
have  often  heard  my  grandfather  tell  of  those 
times.  There  in  the  woods  along  the  river 
they  settled,  built  the  log  cabins  and  worked 
to  clear  up  the  land  for  you  and  me,  though 
they  thought  they  were  working  for  them- 
selves no  doubt. 

"I  did  not  do  much  the  first  Summer.  We 
had  a  garden  and  some  crops.  I  also  started 
my  root  beds.  I  say  we,  but  the  only  family 
I  had  at  first  was  Wong  How,  the  same  Chi- 
nese cook,  we  still  have.  We  have  never  had 
any  women  folks  at  the  farm,  not  that  I  have 


DR.  JONES'  FARM  FOR  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  15 

any  notions  against  them,  but  being  alone  my- 
self, I  thought  best  to  continue  living  as  I  had 
done  in  town. ' ' 

I  knew  the  doctor  had  never  married  and  I 
often  wondered  why,  for  I  remembered  some- 
thing about  a  sweetheart  back  in  the  college 
days.  He  had  never  offered  to  tell  me,  and  I 
felt  unwilling  to  ask  outright.  Once  I  hinted 
in  a  letter  about  it,  but  to  this  he  made  no 
reply. 

"May  be  Jack  will  be  wiser  than  I  have 
been,"  he  said  presently,  with  a  smile,  "and 
bring  home  a  wife  some  day. ' ' 

"Who  is  Jack?"  I  asked. 

"That  is  so,  I  never  wrote  you  of  the  boy. 
Well,  it's  a  long  story  for  some  night  under 
the  trees.  You  must  wait — just  now  I  am  tell- 
ing you  about  the  farm.  Wong  How  and  I 
came  in  the  early  Spring.  In  spite  of  the 
work,  and  there  was  plenty  of  it  to  do,  by 
June  I  was  lonesome,  so  I  invited  a  friend  of 
mine  to  come  out  from  the  city.  He  is  the  di- 
rector of  charities  there.  We  had  a  good  time, 
and  when  he  went  home,  I  asked  him  to  send 
out  six  boys,  from  ten  to  fifteen  years  of  age, 
who  might  be  benefitted  by  a  month's  stay  in 
the  country.  The  bargain  was  that  I  should 
teach  them  to  work  in  return  for  their  keep, 
as  we  put  it.  The  boys  came  and  we  had  a 
glorious  time.  After  a  month  I  sent  them  home 
and  a  new  set  came  out.  With  the  second  lot 
came  the  director  again,  and  with  him  two 
grownups,  friends  he  had  interested.  We  went 


16  WAYSIDE  EXPEEIENCES. 

swimming  in  the  river,  and  fishing  too.  The 
hay  was  ready  to  cut,  so  the  boys,  old  and 
young,  pitched  in  and  helped  me  put  it  up.  We 
had  a  royal  good  time  and  the  good  it  did  those 
fellows,  suggested  the  idea  of  extending  the 
work,  but  I  hesitated  to  undertake  it. 

''When  the  director  and  his  two  friends 
went  home,  they  left  me  twenty-five  dollars 
each,  seventy-five  dollars,  they  said,  to  help 
feed  the  boys.  Well,  I  guess  I  had  fifty  dif- 
ferent youngsters  out  here  that  Summer.  Every 
one  of  them  went  home  healthier  and  better 
boys  than  when  they  came.  The  men  who  came 
with  them  often  lingered  a  few  days,  and  I 
could  see  the  good  it  did  every  one  of  them. 
My  friend  the  director,  wrote  up  the  story  for 
the  city  papers  and  gave  me  quite  a  send  off. 
People  began  to  write  about  coming.  Nearly  all 
the  first  Winter  I  had  from  one  to  a  half  dozen 
men  with  me.  We  cut  wood,  put  up  ice  and 
made  plans  for  the  next  Summer. 

"At  first,  I  had  no  idea  of  such  an  institu- 
tion as  we  now  have.  I  had  no  fixed  charges 
and  no  thought  of  profit.  The  folks  in  town 
asked  me  to  estimate  the  cost  of  keeping  the 
boys,  per  day,  with  their  work  contributed.  I 
could  not  do  it,  so  we  settled  on  the  rate  of 
fifty  cents  a  day  for  each  boy.  The  grownups 
that  came  set  their  own  price  and  left  me  at 
the  rate  of  two  dollars  a  day.  This  custom 
has  become  the  rule  of  the  institution.  I  never 
make  out  any  bills,  but  we  keep  a  register  that 
shows  the  names  and  dates  of  arrival.  So  far 


DR.  JONES'  FAEM  FOR  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  17 

no  one  has  forgotten  to  leave  the  money  before 
he  goes  and  some  have  left  or  sent  substantial 
sums  for  the  promotion  of  our  plans.  A  few 
have  come  along  that  we  found  it  necessary 
to  hand  a  schedule  of  the  trains  that  leave  the 
village,  because  we  could  do  them  no  good. 

' 'Besides  the  money,  our  big  boys  have  con- 
tributed labor  according  to  their  ability,  and 
each  man  received  from  the  farm  what  he  need- 
ed. The  second  Summer  we  had  with  us  Nate 
Coleman,  and  it  is  to  his  skill  and  enthusiastic 
interest  that  we  owe  most  of  the  improvements 
on  the  farm.  He  was  a  down  and  outer  from 
drink,  but  no  better  architect  and  engineer  ever 
lived.  Besides  his  mechanical  ability  he  was 
an  artist  of  rare  taste.  When  you  get  down 
there,  you  will  see  the  wall  and  the  big  gates 
and  the  new  buildings,  all  built  of  field  stone 
— nigger  heads,  people  about  here  call  them — 
laid  in  cement.  We  did  not  have  enough  stone 
about  the  place,  but  farmers  near  by  brought 
us  thousands  of  loads.  We  paid  them  one  dol- 
lar a  load. 

"It  was  Nate  who  projected  the  dam  in  the 
river.  It  is  made  of  reinforced  concrete  and 
lifts  the  surface  about  five  feet,  giving  us  a 
nice  body  of  water  at  all  times  for  boating,  fish- 
ing and  bathing.  In  Winter  it  holds  the  water 
better  for  the  ice  crop,  and  we  have  great  fun 
skating,  besides.  The  overflow  from  the  dam 
runs  our  hydraulic  rams,  that  work  while  we 
sleep,  keeping  our  water  tanks  full  all  the  time. 
We  have  always  plenty  of  water,  so  the  lawns, 


18  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

gardens  and  flower  beds  never  suffer  for  want 
of  it.  All  this  came  along  so  fast,  I  had  to 
dip  into  my  savings  account  a  few  thousand 
dollars.  I  did  not  mind  that,  for  I  began  to 
see  I  would  not  need  the  money  for  myself. 

"How  the  boys  did  work,  helping  the  ma- 
sons on  the  wall.  They  wheeled  dirt,  pounded 
stone,  shoveled  sand,  mixed  cement  and  no 
paid  workers  could  have  shown  more  interest. 
Men  with  soft  hands  and  with  heads  worth  ten 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  tended  mason,  called 
themselves  'wops'  and  went  to  bed  tired,  to 
the  table  hungry,  and  home  after  a  month  or 
so  of  stay,  feeling  well  and  happy.  They  call- 
ed it  'Dr.  Jones'  Work  Cure'  and  it  certainly  is 
a  specific  for  neurasthenia. 

"Those  that  went  home  sent  others  and  be- 
fore the  second  Summer  was  over,  we  had  to 
make  plans  for  more  house  room.  Nate  had  it 
up  his  sleeve  all  the  time  to  build  the  Rec- 
tangle. You  can  see  it  now  very  well  from 
here.  It  is  just  a  big  bungalow  arranged  about 
an  open  court,  cement  floored  except  the  space 
in  the  center  for  the  flowers  and  the  pool  for 
the  fish.  The  boys  call  the  rooms  sleeping  cells, 
but  they  are  cozy  and  healthy.  For  each  four 
cells  is  a  sitting  room,  with  a  big  fire  place. 
There  is  a  toilet  and  a  wash  room  for  each  set 
of  cells.  The  doors  of  the  sitting  rooms  open  on 
the  court,  and  a  porch  with  stone  columns, 
runs  about  the  three  sides  of  the  Rectangle  lev- 
el with  the  court.  There  are  now  forty-eight 
beds  in  the  building,  but  in  Summer  when  we 


DR.  JONES'  FARM  FOB  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  19 

are  crowded  we  put  up  cots  in  the  court,  and 
some  sleep  in  tents  about. 

"Behind  the  Rectangle,  but  connected  by 
a  covered  passage  is  the  Bath  House.  It  has 
a  number  of  small  compartments  with  modern 
plumbing.  In  the  center  is  the  plungepool, 
made  of  porcelained  brick,  laid  in  cement.  We 
use  this  swimming  pool  only  in  Winter,  as  a 
rule,  though  a  few  'tenderfoots'  prefer  it  to 
the  river  plunge,  at  first,  but  they  soon  get  in 
the  procession. 

"By  the  end  of  the  third  year  the  director 
had  induced  the  city  to  establish  a  municipal 
farm  school  for  boys  nearer  to  town,  so  after 
that  we  had  no  more  youngsters.  I  am  called 
one  of  the  Board  for  the  boys'  farm  school  and 
some  of  my  boys  are  there  as  teachers  and  out 
door  instructors.  It  is  a  grand  idea.  I  was 
pleased  with  this  change,  for  it  was  necessary 
to  provide  for  about  five  hundred  boys  and  this 
was  too  much  for  an  old  man  like  me. 

"When  I  cast  up  my  accounts  at  the  end 
of  the  third  year,  I  found  we  had  invested  over 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in  the  improve- 
ments, besides  paying  all  expenses  and  salaries. 
Ten  thousand  of  this  had  come  out  of  my  old 
age  fund.  By  this  time  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  not  have  any  old  age.  I  had  come 
out  here  to  retire,  but  instead  I  found  I  had 
really  taken  on  a  new  life  job.  The  best  of 
it  was,  I  did  not  care  whether  we  made  any 
profit  or  not.  The  people  came,  worked  and 
created.  We  had  much  of  the  material  at  hand, 


20  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

and  with  Nate's  gray  matter,  we  have  made  a 
very  beautiful  property.  Of  course  it's  mine, 
but  that  don't  mean  anything,  any  more  than 
the  air  or  sunshine  is  mine. 

1  'Up  to  this  time  the  old  house  had  been  my 
quarters,  and  it  was  good  enough,  and  is  still 
good  enough  for  me.  It  had  also  been  the  cook- 
ing department  and  the  dining  room,  as  well 
as  quarters  for  the  help.  Wong  How  often 
had  quite  a  number  of  his  countrymen  with 
him.  I  do  not  know  why  we  drifted  into  this 
way  of  hiring  Chinese  help.  It  seemed  to  be 
satisfactory,  and  while  we  try  to  teach  the  dig- 
nity and  worth  of  any  kind  of  labor,  it  may 
have  saved  us  a  good  deal  of  trouble.  Wong 
How  and  his  boys  do  their  work  in  the  kitchen 
and  laundry  faithfully  and  well.  We  can  de- 
pend upon  them.  They  are  clean  and  orderly.  I 
have  had  Wong  How  so  long  he  seems  a  part  of 
my  life.  Perhaps  he  is  serving  his  purpose,  just 
as  I  am  serving  mine  or  you,  yours.  The 
fourth  Summer,  Nate  built  the  Food  House, 
as  the  boys  call  it." 

We  were  now  approaching  the  main  en- 
trance to  the  farm  and  the  doctor's  narrative 
continued. 

"You  can  see  this  building  to  the  right  of 
the  Rectangle.  The  bungalow  idea  is  carried 
out  with  it.  We  have  plenty  of  ground  space 
here,  and  except  in  the  old  house,  there  are  no 
stairs  on  the  farm.  The  big  room  has  a  small 
stage  and  we  have  just  set  up  a  new  piano 
there.  Some  of  the  folks  thought  the  old  one 


DR.  JONES'  FARM  FOE  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  21 

was  not  good  enough  for  us.  It  makes  a  din- 
ing room,  theatre,  church,  dancing  hall,  coun- 
cil chamber,  all  combined.  Behind  the  big 
room  is  the  bakery  and  kitchen.  The  ovens  are 
in  the  basement,  also  the  store  rooms  for  sup- 
plies, provisions,  etc.  We  have  a  cold  storage 
over  there  by  the  river  bank.  This  is  our 
feeding  plant.  It  supplies  food  for  the  body 
and  sometimes  food  for  the  soul. 

"This  year  we  had  what  we  called  our 
'Haying  Time  Musical.'  The  boys  sent  out 
their  invitations  to  wives,  sisters  and  sweet- 
hearts— also  to  a  few  mothers.  They  came, 
we  saw  them,  but  they  conquered  us!  Well, 
we  had  some  great  music.  There  were  some 
professionals  among  the  performers  and  it  was 
quite  a  treat  to  many  of  the  people  living 
about  here,  all  of  whom  were  invited.  You 
will  notice  those  low  windows  slide,  and  when 
opened  a  large  number  on  the  outside  saw  and 
heard  about  as  well  as  those  on  the  inside.  The 
estimated  number  was  one  thousand  persons, 
which  was  quite  a  crowd  for  a  rural  corner  like 
this. 

"In  this  room  we  have  our  Sunday  lec- 
tures— some  times  I  talk  when  we  can  fin<3  no 
one  with  a  better  message.  Now  and  then  we 
have  theatricals  and  dancing  when  ladies  vis- 
it us.  The  Food  House  has  been  a  good  invest- 
ment. I  raised  nearly  enough  golden  seal  root 
over  there  in  the  grove  that  season,  to  pay  for 
it.  I  had  about  one  thousand  pounds  of  the 
dried  root  and  I  got  five  dollars  a  pound  for 


22  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

it.  You  should  have  seen  some  of  my  farmer 
neighbors  open  their  eyes,  when  my  first  five 
thousand  dollar  load,  ten  barrels  with  one  hun- 
dred pounds  to  the  barrel,  went  to  the  station. 
I  am  going  into  this  drug  plant  raising  more 
extensively.  We  will  market  about  a  ton  of 
the  golden  seal  this  season,  if  nothing  happens, 
and  a  like  quantity  of  echinacea  also,  which 
brings  about  three  dollars  a  pound.  Golden 
seal  is  now  six  fifty  a  pound  on  druggist  lists. 
"Well,  here  we  are  and  I  have  done  all  the 
talking  so  far.  You  shall  have  your  chance 
later." 

We  turned  into  the  big  stone  pillared  gate- 
way and  under  the  main  arch  I  read  this  sign : 


DR.  JONES'  HEALTH  FARM. 


I  had  no  sooner  washed  and  rested  a  few 
minutes  in  one  of  the  "cells"  assigned  me,  than 
the  supper  bell  rang.  The  good  old  "Sire" 
was  waiting  at  my  door  to  escort  me  to  my  seat 
at  his  table.  I  must  stand  while  he  made  a  lit- 
tle speech,  telling  who  I  was  and  what  I  was 
to  him.  His  smooth  face  wreathed  in  smiles — 
the  merry  blue  eyes  beaming — all  this  spoke 
plainly  his  happiness  to  have  me  with  him. 
Dr.  Benjamin  Jones  was  an  old  man  then;  his 
mane  of  hair  fell  backward  over  his  head  as 
white  as  snow,  but  he  had  all  the  life  and  spirit 
of  the  youngest  in  that  roomful — forty  odd  aa 
I  counted. 


DR.  JONES'  FARM  FOR  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  23 

As  the  meal  proceeded,  we  talked.  To  the 
others  at  the  table  he  said,  "I  shall  leave  it  to 
my  friend  here  to  select  his  own  labors,  but  if 
he  should  chance  to  join  the  wood  choppers 
tomorrow  you  must  be  easy  on  him,  boys.  His 
hands  are  soft." 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,  we'll  be  easy  on  him,"  said 
some  of  the  fellows  laughing  at  my  discom- 
fort. 

The  food  came  on,  substantial  but  plain. 
There  was  corn  bread  and  butter,  soft  boiled 
eggs  and  baked  potatoes.  At  each  plate  stood 
a  good  sized  dish  of  maple  syrup,  made  on  the 
farm  and  how  well  it  went  with  the  corn  bread. 
There  was  milk,  tea,  coffee,  water — take  your 
choice.  Mine  was  milk — Jersey  milk  the  doc- 
tor explained. 

"We  keep  a  dairy  now  of  ten  cows,  but  I 
must  add  a  few  more,  I  fear,  the  way  these 
boys  drink  milk  and  eat  butter.  I  tell  them 
they  must  have  been  bottle-fed  babies." 

My  walk  seemed  to  bring  my  appetite  and  I 
surprised  myself  the  way  I  went  after  that  corn 
bread  and  syrup. 

"You'll  do  better  after  they  break  you  in 
tomorrow,"  the  doctor  commented. 

Just  where  the  big  trees  end  by  the  river 
bank,  a  bluff,  thirty  or  forty  feet  above  the 
water,  is  formed.  The  great  wall  encircles  the 
trees  at  the  end,  forming  an  outlook  over  the 
swimming  pool.  From  this  circle  the  steps  lead 
down  to  the  platform  at  the  edge  of  the  water 
or  "swimming  hole"  as  they  called  it.  The 


24  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

men  called  this  circular  court  under  the  trees, 
" Council  Bluff"  and  it  was  the  custom  for 
those  who  had  no  other  work  or  self  appointed 
task,  to  gather  here  at  the  evening  hour,  to 
smoke,  talk  and  listen.  It  was  here  the  old 
doctor  came  closest  to  his  friends.  They  al- 
ways saved  his  seat  near  the  end  of  the  wall, 
by  the  steps.  It  was  a  little  higher  there  and 
from  this  place  he  pronounced  his  "sermons" 
on  life  and  things.  Here  many  men  were  born 
again  into  a  new  conception  of  life's  meaning. 

We  gathered  after  supper  in  this  council 
place  under  the  trees  and  as  the  twilight  deep- 
ened, they  cast  their  kindly  shadows  over  the 
faces  of  the  group.  We  talked  each  with  his 
neighbor  as  we  smoked.  After  a  time,  the  old 
doctor  finished  his  pipe,  and  looked  from  face  to 
face.  They  seemed  to  know  what  was  coming 
and  a  silence  fell  as  we  waited  on  his  words. 
The  sound  of  rippling  water  at  the  dam  came  to 
our  ears.  Crickets  were  calling  in  the  grass. 
Across  the  distant  meadow  we  heard  faintly 
the  lowing  of  a  cow.  The  cooling  dew  was  fall- 
ing. A  mist  arose  over  the  river  like  some 
weird  phantom  of  the  night. 

Then  the  doctor  began  to  talk.  He  spoke 
very  slowly  and  with  great  tenderness.  It  was 
a  long  sermon  in  a  few  words.  It  made  us 
wonder  why  we  had  so  long  forgotten  the  real 
meaning  of  life.  We  felt  very  close  to  Nature 
and  to  God,  as  we  sat  there  in  the  shadows  lis- 
tening to  his  words.  The  dear  old  philosopher 
spoke  but  a  few  minutes,  yet  we  seemed  to  have 


DR.  JONES'  FAEM  FOR  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  25 

lived  again  our  whole  life  time.  At  last  he 
said,  "Boys,  let's  have  a  song  now.  Let's  sing 
again  that  old  hymn,  'Lead  Kindly  Light.' 
Everybody  knows  it." 

There  were  twenty  or  more  of  us  in  the 
group  that  night,  of  all  ages  from  early  man- 
hood to  life's  decline.  There  were  some  very 
good  singers  among  these  men  and  when  the 
old  song  arose  and  the  sweet  melody  of  men's 
voices  filled  the  night  air  it  aroused  in  me  a 
wonderful  emotion.  They  had  evidently  sung 
the  song  together  before  for  they  sang  exceed- 
ingly well. 

"Lead    kindly    light    amid    the    encircling 
gloom, 

Lead  thou  me  on : 

The  night  is  dark  and  I  am  far  from  home. '  ' 

Three  verses  they  sang  and  I  am  sure  my 
tears  were  not  the  only  ones  to  be  hastily 
brushed  away,  at  least  among  the  newcomers. 
The  song  ended,  and  its  faint  echoes  came  from 
over  the  river.  The  night  so  still,  told  us  of 
peace  and  rest. 

"Well,  boys,  let's  go  to  our  beds,"  the  doc- 
tor said  quietly. 

One  by  one  we  made  off  to  our  rooms.  On 
the  way  from  "Council  Bluff"  the  old  doctor 
slipped  his  arm  through  mine  and  said,  "Well, 
dear  boy,  do  you  think  you'll  like  the  farm?" 

"Sire,  if  it  does  for  my  body  what  it  has 
already  done  for  my  mind,  I  shall  never  want  to 
leave  you." 


26  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

He  chuckled  a  little  and  pressed  my  arm 
tighter. 

"Oh,  they  come  and  go.  Many  go  and  come 
back  again.  Some  try  it  out  there  a  while  after 
this,  and  they  don't  like  it,"  he  said  stretching 
his  hand  toward  the  star-lighted  horizon. 

We  stood  looking  at  the  stars  a  few  min- 
utes before  he  continued. 

"I  am  a  very  small  man,  and  this  is  a  very 
small  world  when  we  think  of  all  God's  out- 
doors in  the  sky.  Still  there  are  places  and  cor- 
ners where  peace  dwells,  if  people  only  keep 
working  and  singing  their  songs.  I  can't  let 
our  farm  become  chronic  with  any  man.  When 
he  comes  back  too  often,  I  send  him  out  some- 
where to  start  one  of  his  own.  There  are  sev- 
eral here  and  there  that  call  us  the  'Mother 
Farm'  like  the  Mother  Church  we  used  to  visit 
sometimes  in  Boston.  The  mother  idea  is  all 
right  if  we  can't  agree  with  the  rest." 

Then  we  went  to  our  beds.  As  I  lay  there 
in  my  tidy  little  room,  with  the  night  air  com- 
ing in  at  my  window  so  clean  and  sweet  with 
the  smell  of  many  herbs  and  bloom,  the  still- 
ness seemed  to  keep  me  awake.  A  whip-poor- 
will  was  calling  his  mate  somewhere  in  the 
grove,  and  but  for  it  the  silence  might  have 
seemed  oppressive. 

I  must  have  slept,  for  I  awoke  when  the 
soft  tones  of  the  morning  bell  rang  out  the  call 
for  the  "Bath  Robe  Parade"  as  the  boys  called 
it.  Sire  was  knocking  at  my  door. 


DR.  JONES'  FARM  FOR  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  27 

"You  will  want  to  see  the  fun,  so  throw  on 
this  and  come,"  he  said,  handing  me  a  bath 
robe.  Pulling  on  my  slippers,  I  joined  him. 
Down  the  walk  went  the  procession  of  forty 
odd  health  seekers — monks  they  seemed,  some 
with  cowls  pulled  over — to  the  steps  at  '  *  Coun- 
cil Bluff"  and  down  the  steps  to  the  platform 
at  the  pool.  Off  went  the  bath  robes,  and  men 
as  naked  as  God  made  them — except  for  bath- 
ing trunks — plunged  into  the  deep  cold  water 
of  the  river.  Such  a  splashing  and  confusion 
of  legs  and  arms  I  never  saw. 

"We  use  the  pool  here  till  the  first  frost 
comes  in  the  Fall,  then  we  go  to  the  Bath  House 
pool,"  the  doctor  explained. 

They  did  not  stay  in  the  water  but  a  few 
minutes.  Out  they  came,  laughing,  puffing  and 
happy.  On  went  the  robes  and  one  by  one 
they  trotted  back  to  their  cells. 

"Tomorrow,  I'll  take  mine  too,"  I  said. 

By  the  time  the  bathers  had  rubbed  down 
and  dressed  the  bell  for  breakfast  sounded. 
The  sun  was  just  coming  up  in  the  East  and 
through  the  window  at  our  table,  I  could  see 
the  red  and  the  gold  that  promised  a  good 
day. 

There  were  ten  of  us  in  the  wood  chopping 
"gang."  Sire  took  an  equal  number  to  the 
grove  to  work  among  the  roots,  while  others 
went  to  the  gardens  and  fields.  There  were 
four  "professional  lawn  tenders"  who  looked 
after  the  grass  and  flowers.  The  woodmen 
and  field  workers  went  under  the  direction  of 


28  WAYSIDE  EXPEKIEN'CES. 

farmer  foremen  in  the  doctor's  employ,  and 
these  men  taught  us  to  work  successfully  at  the 
task  in  hand. 

Everywhere  was  order  and  system.  Every- 
thing in  trim  and  neatness.  While  about  such 
a  farm  there  always  accumulates  a  great 
amount  of  odds  and  ends,  there  was  a  place 
for  everything,  nothing  wasted,  neglected  or 
thrown  at  random. 

In  the  closets  off  our  cells  we  found  our 
suits  of  overalls  and  jacket — "jumpers"  some 
called  them — also  rubber  boots  and  brogans  for 
wet  or  dry  weather.  The  footwear  was  usually 
big  enough  to  fit,  but  if  not  suited,  there  was  an 
assortment  in  the  storeroom.  The  foreman  had 
ten  keen  edged  axes  ready  for  us.  These  we 
shouldered  and  marched  off  like  soldiers  to  the 
war. 

In  the  group  were  some  men  who  held  high 
positions,  when  classed  by  the  dollars  and  cents 
they  commanded.  One  lawyer  had  fees,  it  was 
known,  that  often  reached  fifty  thousand  ft 
year.  There  was  a  banker  or  two  and  a  cap- 
tain of  industry.  They  all  took  orders  from  a 
twenty-five  dollar  a  month  farm  foreman. 

It  seemed  that  while  a  natural  gas  well  sup- 
plied light  and  fuel  for  the  Food  House  and 
Bath  House,  they  used  wood  in  the  fire  places 
and  in  the  steam  heating  plant.  It  was  this 
wood  we  were  helping  to  prepare.  We  went  to 
a  wood  lot,  where  many  second  growth  and  un- 
desirable trees  were  to  be  cleared  away,  both 
for  the  fuel  and  to  improve  the  land  for  pas- 


DE.  JONES'  FARM  FOR  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  29 

ture.  These  trees  varied  from  three  to  ten 
inches  in  diameter.  Most  of  the  choppers  were 
new  to  the  work  so  the  foreman  showed  us 
how  it  was  done.  With  rapid  and  accurate 
blows  he  soon  made  the  chips  fly,  and  present- 
ly the  tree,  a  good  sized  one,  lay  upon  the 
ground. 

"Looks  easy  enough,"  the  banker  com- 
mented. 

"I'll  be  all  right  if  I  can  hit  more  than 
once  in  the  same  place,"  ventured  the  lawyer. 

So  with  many  jokes  and  much  banter  we 
began  learning  the  woodman's  art.  We  were 
divided  into  pairs  and  set  at  work  with  safe 
distance  between  each  set  of  workers.  I  was 
paired  off  with  the  lawyer  and  we  waded  into 
a  good  sized  tree  that  had  been  marked  for  us. 
We  hacked  away,  one  resting  while  the  other 
worked.  Now  and  then  some  fellow  from  an- 
other set  would  call  out  to  us.  One  said,  "I 
could  gnaw  it  off  quicker  than  that." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  called  back  the  lawyer, 
"always  thought  you  were  part  dog  or  beaver 
or  some  sort  of  rodent." 

Thus  we  laughed  and  worked,  also  sweated 
at  our  tasks.  Our  tree  fell  at  last  and  we 
shouted  like  schoolboys.  Then  we  forged  ahead 
on  the  limbs  and  the  cutting  of  the  trunk  into 
proper  lengths.  When  the  poles  we  had  cut 
were  piled,  also  the  brush  laid  in  heaps,  we 
could  hardly  realize  we  had  been  at  work  four 
hours.  The  old  bell  was  calling  us  to  wash  and 
dress  for  dinner. 


30  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

I  do  not  think  our  whole  company  of  ten 
men  did  as  much  work,  no,  I  won't  say  work, 
for  we  worked  hard  enough — I'll  say,  cut  as 
much  wood  as  two  skilled  woodmen  would  have 
done,  but  we  went  home  tired,  hungry  and  hap- 
py. It  was  a  luxury — the  sponge  bath  and 
the  rub  down.  How  good  our  natural  clothing 
felt,  and  how  we  did  eat! 

The  afternoons  on  the  farm  are  spent  as 
each  man's  pleasure  dictates.  Some  went  up 
the  river  fishing.  Others  took  walks  over  the 
hills.  Others  still  read  or  wrote  letters  or 
chatted  in  the  shade.  Some  of  the  more  inter- 
ested ones  of  the  gardens  or  the  flower  beds, 
studied  their  plants  and  consulted  books  from 
the  library,  and  the  doctor  had  a  large  col- 
lection by  this  time. 

Sire  and  I  took  a  walk  to  see  his  golden 
seal  beds  in  the  grove,  where  by  following  the 
plan  of  nature  he  was  producing  a  root  that 
excelled  anything  the  drug  makers  had  ever 
seen,  he  said.  It  was  out  in  the  grove  by  the 
golden  seal  beds  he  told  me  the  story  of  Jack. 

"You  will  remember  back  there  in  the  Bos- 
ton days  I  once  told  you  of  Nan.  We  had  been 
schoolmates,  and  when  I  went  away  to  medical 
college  she  had  promised  to  be  my  wife.  It 
seemed  a  long  time  to  wait  I  suppose.  It 
seemed  long  to  me,  still  not  too  long  for  the 
girl  I  loved.  It  must  have  seemed  too  long 
for  Nan,  for  before  I  left  you  in  Boston,  she 
wrote  breaking  her  engagement.  I  could  not 
blame  her  much,  yet  I  loved  her  dearly  and 


DR.  JONES'  FARM  FOR  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  31 

what  she  did  greatly  depressed  me  for  a  time. 
I  could  not  speak  of  it  to  anybody — not  even 
to  you.  She  took  what  she  thought  was  a 
better  chance,  a  man  I  never  knew,  but  every- 
one said  she  had  done  well  to  marry  John 
Pobes,  a  Chicago  banker's  son.  A  few  said 
it  was  better  than  to  wait  for  Ben  Jones,  a 
struggling  young  doctor.  I  have  never  dis- 
puted them  in  this,  still  I  have  waited  to  see 
the  end  of  the  story. 

"Fobes  took  his  wife,  my  Nan,  and  went  to 
Chicago,  where  he  had  originated.  There  he 
soon  became  a  successful  banker  and  politician. 
He  belonged  to  that  set  of  grafters  that  made 
Chicago  its  happy  hunting  ground  those  years. 
I  never  knew  the  whole  story  but  I  read  of  his 
arrest  for  some  sort  of  peculation  and  he  went 
to  prison  for  a  long  term  of  years.  He  died 
suddenly  soon  after  his  term  began,  and  Nan 
came  home  to  her  folks  with  her  little  boy.  I 
saw  her  here,  and  the  child  and  I  soon  became 
great  friends.  I  loved  the  lad,  but  when  I  saw 
the  change  that  had  come  over  his  mother  in 
those  years  of  her  married  life,  I  was  glad  I 
had  not  married  her.  Maybe  she  would  not 
have  changed  this  way  had  she  married  me, 
who  knows.  I  saw  considerable  of  them  that 
Summer,  and  I  advised  her  to  put  the  boy  in 
school.  She  had  saved  a  little  money  from 
the  wreck  of  Pobes'  estate  so  she  was  rather 
independent  that  way.  She  followed  my  sug- 
gestion and  sent  the  boy  away  to  school,  but 


32  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

she  did  this,  I  thought,  because  it  left  her  more 
freedom  to  follow  her  own  fancy. 

"Her  father  died  that  Winter,  and  her 
mother  went  to  live  with  the  older  son.  After 
that  I  heard  no  more  of  Nan,  except  as  reports 
of  her  notorious  conduct  about  racing  and  wat- 
ering places,  drifted  back  to  us.  When  the 
boy  was  twelve  I  became  his  guardian.  I  never 
knew  how  it  happened  but  it  had  been  his 
mother's  wish.  She  was  either  murdered  or 
committed  suicide,  while  living  as  the  mis- 
tress of  a  well  known  race  track  gambler.  Poor 
Nan,  how  I  have  wished  since  then  she  had 
waited  and  never  changed,"  and  the  old  man 
sat  silent  a  moment  or  two. 

"I  brought  the  boy  back  to  Ohio  and  put 
him  in  school  in  town  and  he  lived  with  me 
and  Wong  How.  I  have  been  father  and  moth- 
er to  him  ever  since.  He  is  now  twenty-five 
and  gets  his  M.D.  in  June  from  John  Hop- 
kins. There  was  a  little  money  left  for  Jack 
and  I  have  helped  him  some.  Better  still,  he 
has  helped  himself.  I  tried  to  teach  him  what 
a  dollar  costs  by  earning  one  for  himself.  He 
is  a  practical  chap,  and  I  hope  he  lives  to 
take  my  place  here." 

The  doctor  then  fussed  about  among  the 
roots  a  while.  I  knew  if  he  had  anything  more 
to  say,  he  would  say  it  in  his  own  time. 

"Perhaps  it  is  better  so,"  he  said  softly. 
"Fate  seems  to  arrange  our  plans  for  us  and  all 
we  can  do  is  to  follow  the  path  marked  out. 
Man  proposes  but  God  disposes,  they  say.  How- 


DR.  JONES'  FAKM  FOR  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  33 

ever,  every  man  needs  a  woman  to  smooth 
his  brow.  I  prescribe  it,  but  somehow  I  could 
not  forget  Nan — Nan  as  she  used  to  be — as  she 
might  have  been  to  me.  Now  I've  got  Nan's 
boy." 

I  couldn  't  think  of  anything  good  to  say,  so 
I  said  nothing  and  once  more  we  sat  in  si- 
lence a  long  time.  By  and  by,  I  said,  "I  un- 
derstand, Sire,  I  do." 

"I  knew  you  would — I  wanted  to  tell  you. 
No  one  else  knows.  Let  it  be  so.  Shall  we 
trot  back  now?  It's  almost  supper  time." 


That  night  under  the  trees,  when  we  came 
to  the  place  for  the  "talk,"  the  doctor  said, 
"I've  had  some  thoughts  today  about  how 
every  man  pays  the  price.  Do  you  want  to 
hear  them?" 

We  could  not  see  his  face  very  well,  but 
I  am  sure  he  looked  at  me  and  smiled. 

"Hear!  hear!"  we  cried.  This  was  the 
custom  at  the  beginning  of  each  of  the  doc- 
tor's talks. 

"Every  man  pays  his  price.  Nature  or 
God,  call  it  what  you  will,  puts  it  on  the  ticket, 
marked  in  plain  figures, — one  price  to  all.  You 
and  I  must  pay — that's  all  there  is  to  it. 

"Because  brain  labor  is  the  better  money 
getter,  and  seems  more  desirable,  men  have 
counted  toil  with  hands  as  degraded.  The  men 
and  women  of  ease  grow  fat  and  the  vital  or- 
gans degenerate.  The  heart  falters  and  fails. 


34  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

The  arteries  harden  and  break.  Presently  a 
great  hulk  of  corruption  is  carted  off  to  the 
dead.  He  was  a  great  banker,  statesman,  cap- 
tain of  industry,  a  judge  on  the  bench,  or  what 
not,  but  he  did  no  physical  work.  He  left  a 
huge  fortune  perhaps  that  others  had  produced. 
He  left  a  family  tainted  with  his  own  fatal 
heredity.  He  paid  the  price. 

"By  devious  and  subtle  ways,  by  systems  of 
great  cunning,  by  the  formulation  of  law  and 
by  the  interpretation  of  this  law,  men  have 
succeeded  wonderfully  in  the  exploitation  of 
the  toiler:  like  the  horse  the  worker  has  been 
dumb.  His  interest  centered  about  his  feed 
box.  So  long  as  it  was  full  he  was  content. 
Fatigue  made  intelligence  difficult,  and  the 
worker  did  not  know  his  strength  or  the  value 
of  his  labor  in  production. 

"By  the  subtle  devices  called  profits,  tar- 
iffs, rents,  rebates,  interest,  bonds,  stocks  and 
franchises,  by  patents,  secret  formula  and  by 
all  the  other  hidden  systems,  often  made  legal 
by  political  subalterns  and  substantiated  by 
subjugated  courts,  the  products  of  labor  have 
been  taken  from  the  producer  and  given  to 
the  exploiter.  The  scorner  of  honest  toil  has 
gloated  over  his  millions  and  his  hundreds  of 
millions.  These  billions  have  been  garnered 
into  Wall  Street  where  the  wolves  of  finance 
tear  and  rend  each  other  for  supremacy — for 
possession  of  this  stolen  wealth — I  say  stolen, 
but  of  course  taken  according  to  the  laws  of 
the  looting  system,  yet  in  the  last  analysis  as 


DR.  JONES'  FARM  FOR  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  35 

wrongly  taken  as  the  loot  of  the  bank  vault 
robber  or  the  highwayman. 

4 'And  what  is  the  price  we  pay  for  all  this? 
It  is  poverty.  Poverty  that  breeds  crime  and 
disease.  It  builds  hovels  and  jails,  workhouses 
and  poorhouses,  hospitals  and  insane  asylums, 
dives  and  brothels.  It  sends  millions  of  inno- 
cent babes  to  premature  graves.  It  drives  a 
horde  of  fair  women  to  the  harlot's  bed.  It 
wears  out  the  toilers  before  their  time  and 
throws  them  on  the  scrap  heap.  Behold  in  the 
picture  of  our  present  industrial  struggle  the 
price  we  pay  for  millionaires.  Behold  the  sys- 
tem of  profit  seeking  competition,  toppling  over 
upon  itself,  because  of  its  own  rottenness.  The 
rich  are  equally  as  ignorant  of  the  causes  of  our 
social  diseases  as  are  the  poor  victims.  Here 
and  there  men  of  wealth  make  desperate  effort 
to  check  the  fall — the  crisis,  that  is  upon  us, 
by  charities,  hospitals,  foundations,  libraries, 
pseudo-profit  sharing,  workingmen's  benefit 
associations  and  a  hundred  other  futile  make 
shifts.  Preachers  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  cry 
out  'Repent  and  be  saved'  and  all  the  while 
the  church  is  as  diseased  as  society  itself.  Doc- 
tors rush  here  and  there  night  and  day  to  cure 
sickness  that  never  should  have  occurred.  Hos- 
pitals are  filled  with  thousands  of  injured  and 
undertakers  are  busy  with  the  killed,  all  of 
whom  need  not  have  suffered  and  died  had  in- 
dustry been  put  upon  the  right  basis.  Law- 
yers are  pleading  cases  and  judges  deciding  en- 
tanglements that  should  not  have  occurred  but 


36  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

for  poverty  and  the  fear  of  poverty.  Officers 
of  the  Law  go  chasing  poor  victims  who  listen- 
ed to  Brute  Force  which  said,  'do  and  dare, 
take  and  revolt.'  Policemen,  as  dull  as  the 
tough  in  their  hands,  try  to  beat  the  idea  of 
submission  into  the  heads  of  the  rebellious,  with 
their  night  sticks.  Isn't  it  all  a  woeful  price  to 
pay? 

"What  shall  a  man  do  to  be  saved?  Men 
of  wealth  are  often  men  of  great  personal 
worth.  What  can  they  do?  Here  and  there 
they  follow  the  advise  of  Jesus,  'Sell  all  and 
give  to  the  poor'  but  it  is  futile.  It  is  but  a 
drop  in  the  bucket,  that  adds  only  to  the  mis- 
ery of  the  whole  and  leaves  the  giver  no  bet- 
ter off. 

"Brothers,  there  is  only  one  solution,  only 
one  way  to  escape  from  all  this  terrible  price 
we  pay.  We  must  abolish  poverty.  To  do  this 
we  must  give  up  profits  and  competition.  We 
must  come  down  to  earth  and  be  willing  to  per- 
form whatever  labor  of  hands  Nature  has  im- 
posed upon  us." 

I  cannot  reproduce  all  this  talk.  He  tried 
to  make  us  understand  his  definition  of  labor. 
He  illustrated  the  classification  of  toil.  He 
gave  us  glimpses  of  a  society  without  poverty, 
but  he  added  that  none  present  would  live  to 
see  it  fully  established.  He  said  each  must 
solve  his  own  problem  of  adjustment,  and  not 
be  embittered.  For  himself,  he  had  by  hard 
labor  and  economy  in  his  life  as  a  doctor,  sav- 
ed a  little  money  and  come  out  there  to  end  his 


DR.  JONES'  FARM  FOE  DOWN  AND  OUTS.  37 

days  in  peace.  Now  the  turn  of  affairs  had 
created  there  a  valuable  property  to  which  he 
held  the  title.  It  was  not  his  property  how- 
ever. He  had  no  personal  use  for  it.  He  had 
arranged  that  when  he  went  away  on  the  long 
journey,  it  would  continue  in  the  way  it  had  be- 
gun, serving  men.  If  all  men  thought  as  he,  and 
had  no  fear  of  poverty  for  themselves  or  their 
children,  then  this  desire  to  hold  property 
would  be  taken  out  of  human  life.  It  is  a  vain 
desire  and  its  costs  such  a  price,  the  race  can- 
not afford  it.  The  cost  of  poverty  is  too  great. 
Let  us  abolish  poverty. 


I  have  been  at  the  farm  now  two  months. 
I  am  a  well  man  again.  I  eat  and  sleep  like  a 
boy  of  twenty.  I  am  going  back  to  my  desk 
but  I  shall  come  again.  Dear  old  Sire  says  I 
must  come  every  Summer,  as  we  have  but  a  few 
more  to  spend  together. 

I  am  going  back  into  the  struggle,  but  it 
won't  be  the  same  as  before.  1  can  laugh  at 
it  now,  for  I  know  it  means  nothing.  If  I 
can  help  others  to  recognize  its  insincerity  and 
futility  that  will  be  part  of  my  excuse  for  liv- 
ing. If  the  Thing  tries  to  get  me  down  again 
and  to  crush  me  into  mental  and  physical  mis- 
ery, I  will  laugh  at  it.  Pooh,  I  will  say,  I  fear 
you  not.  Out  in  Ohio  there  is  a  real  place  to 
live  called  Dr.  Jones'  Health  Farm,  and  the 
good  old  Sire  is  waiting  there  to  welcome  me 
any  day.  He  will  welcome  you  too,  my  reader, 
if  you  need  what  the  farm  can  do  for  you. 


The  Price  He  Paid. 


"Well,  don't  that  beat  the  devil?" 

This  was  Dr.  Xury's  exclamation,  when  the 
nurse  brought  the  baby,  all  washed  and  dress- 
ed, into  the  doctors'  lounging  room  at  the 
hospital.  It  was  a  fat  clean-skinned  child,  and 
its  lusty  cry  was  ample  evidence  of  good 
health. 

"It  certainly  is  a  sweet  child,"  the  nurse 
said  as  she  carried  it  away  to  the  waiting 
mother. 

Dr.  Xury  Taylor  Lane  was  known  by 
everybody  connected  with  the  hospital  as  "Dr. 
Xury."  He  was  old  enough  to  have  been  rip- 
ened by  experience,  yet  young  enough  to  appre- 
ciate that  saving  sense  of  humor.  To  fit  this 
prescription  a  man  usually  has  to  be  somewhere 
around  forty.  Had  Dr.  Lane  been  asked  he 
would  have  confessed  forty  at  least.  He  was 
a  sharp,  keen-eyed  man,  reasonably  bald,  he 
said  from  early  piety,  but  erect  and  muscular, 
his  very  manner  suggesting  power  and  sin- 
cerity. Yet  there  was  always  a  pleasant  smile, 
partly  hidden  by  a  close  cropped  moustache. 
There  is  little  need,  however,  to  dwell  long 
upon  Dr.  Lane  for  he  is  not  the  star  actor  in 
our  story.  This  will  do  as  a  formal  intro- 
duction. You  will  learn  to  know  him  by  what 
he  says  and  does,  just  as  I  came  to  know  him. 


40  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"What  was  it  about  that  baby  that  beats 
the  devil,  Dr.  Xury?"  the  house  surgeon 
asked,  after  the  nurse  had  left  the  room. 

"The  mother  and  father  of  that  child  are 
both  under  my  care  and  treatment  for  consti- 
tutional syphilis.  Now  comes  a  clean  healthy 
baby.  Don't  that  beat  the  devil?" 

"Not  necessarily,"  the  younger  doctor  re- 
plied. ' '  It  only  shows  what  medicine  will  do. ' ' 

"Well,  we  won't  boast  too  soon.  Give  the 
child  three  years,  then  if  nothing  shows  up, 
we  will  hurrah.  Meantime  we'll  be  just  wait- 
ing— only  waiting!"  and  Dr.  Xury  went  down 
the  long  hall  toward  his  waiting  machine,  hum- 
ming a  tune. 


For  some  time  before  the  opening  of  our 
story,  Mr.  Harry  B.  Van  Auker  had  been  a 
successful  illustrator  and  artist.  He  had  a 
studio  in  connection  with  a  large  engraving 
establishment.  His  drawing  was  good  and 
therefore  in  demand.  His  work  was  original 
and  clever.  Several  vacation  times  he  had 
spent  in  travel,  and  he  did  some  work  in  water 
color  and  oil.  One  Summer  he  went  to  Eu- 
rope and  spent  a  few  happy  weeks  in  Holland 
where  the  tradition  says  his  family  originated. 

Harry  is  an  interesting  fellow — calm,  easy 
in  manner  and  slow  of  words,  but  with  that 
drawl  sort  of  humor  and  wit  most  of  us  en- 
joy so  well.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that 
Marion  Sturdevant  learned  to  love  him.  They 
had  been  engaged  about  six  months  when  Har- 
ry first  went  to  Dr.  Lane.  They  planned  to  be 


THE  P&1CE  HE  PAID.  41 

married  the  next  June  and  spend  the  Summer 
about  the  Irish  coast  sketching.  Marion  was 
something  of  a  water  color  enthusiast.  In  fact 
I  believe  they  had  met  at  the  Art  Club.  Harry 
had  already  sold  a  few  of  his  Dutch  scenes 
for  fair  prices,  so  they  thought  it  might  be  a 
profitable  way  to  spend  the  honeymoon.  You 
can  understand  how  they  looked  forward  to 
this  trip,  especially  when  you  remember  this 
was  to  be  a  wedding  journey. 

During  October  Harry  went  to  Dr.  Lane 
about  some  sores  in  his  mouth.  He  had  tried 
throat  lozenges,  mouth  wash  tablets,  etc.  re- 
commended by  the  druggists,  but  nothing 
seemed  to  help  him.  Like  many  others,  Harry 
would  not  think  of  consulting  a  physician  so 
long  as  the  druggist  would  sell  him  "some- 
thing good  for  what  ailed  him."  Doctors  al- 
ways get  a  big  bill  against  you  someway,  if 
you  once  fall  into  their  hands.  This  was  Har- 
ry's idea — like  many  other  folks —  because  he 
put  the  service  of  a  physician  on  the  same  bas- 
is as  that  of  the  drug  store  clerk  who  sold  him 
something  good  for  mouth  sores,  price  25  cents. 

Luckily  Harry  thought  well  of  Dr.  Xur> 
and  when  the  mouth  kept  on  getting  worse,  he 
went  to  the  doctor's  office. 

"I  want  you  to  examine  my  mouth,"  said 
Harry. 

"All  right,  son,  sit  here,"  and  Dr.  Lane 
placed  his  patient,  fixing  his  head  lamp  into 
place. 

"Well,  by  jinks, — mucous  patches!" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  the 
young  man,  somewhat  alarmed. 


42  WAYSIDE  EXPEBIENCES. 

"I  mean  the  secondary  sores  of  syphilis," 
with  this  remark  the  doctor  began  to  feel  for 
glands  in  the  back  of  the  neck,  about  the  el- 
bows and  other  places. 

"I  never  had  anything  wrong  with  me," 
Harry  protested. 

"Not  that  you  thought  was  anything,  yet 
you  did  have  something  wrong  with  you,  and 
you  have  got  something  very  much  wrong 
right  now." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Harry  sat  looking  at 
the  doctor  closely,  as  if  to  make  out  his  mean- 
ing, then  he  said,  "Now  look  here,  Dr.  Lane, 
if  you  are  sure  about  this  thing,  it's  a  mighty 
serious  matter,  I  can  tell  you  that;  you  can't 
understand  what  it  means  to  me." 

"There  are  tests  of  the  blood  we  can  make, 
but  it  is  not  necessary.  Your  tongue  and 
mouth  show  plain  enough  what  the  trouble  is. 
Did  you  never  have  a  sore  of  any  kind?" 

"Oh,  about  a  year  ago  I  had  a  little  lump, 
but  it  did  not  hurt  me  any.  I  got  some  powder 
at  the  drug  store  and  it  soon  went  away." 

"All  right,  I  say  you  have  got  syphilis. 
Go  to  any  one  or  a  dozen  doctors  and  see 
what  they  say.  Then  if  you  want  me  to  treat 
you,  come  back." 

"If  I  have  this  disease,  can  you  cure  met 
Can  you  do  it  right  away?" 

"We  have  successful  treatment  for  syphilis. 
The  old  way  takes  from  one  to  three  years. 
The  new  way  is  too  new  to  say  much  about 
just  yet.  If  what  they  are  calling  '606'  does 


THE  PRICE  HE  PAID.  43 

what  is  claimed  for  it,  it  may  save  time,  but 
I'll  stick  to  the  old  way  for  the  present.'' 

"Doctor,  you  won't  feel  offended  if  I  see 
one  or  two  others,  will  you?  I  want  to  feel 
sure,  you  know." 

"Not  at  all,  son,  not  at  all." 

Two  or  three  days  later  artist  Harry  call- 
ed again  on  Dr.  Lane.  The  doctor  already 
knew  about  all  the  other  physicians  he  had 
consulted,  for  almost  without  exception,  they 
had,  one  by  one,  called  him  over  the  telephone, 
confirming  his  diagnosis. 

"Well,  you've  been  the  rounds,  have  you?" 

"Yes,  doctor,  I  saw  a  few — they  all  agree 
for  once.  I  guess  you  will  have  to  treat  me,"  the 
young  man  replied,  with  a  sob  in  his  voice. 
"I'm  all  broke  up  about  this.  I  even  thought 
of  committing  suicide." 

"Nonsense,  son!  You  do  as  I  tell  you  and 
you  '11  get  well  all  right.  So  they  all  agreed  for 
once?" 

"Yes,  all  but  one.  I  called  upon  one  doctor 
over  here,  who  has  'Specialist'  on  his  sign.  I 
thought  I'd  see  what  he  would  say.  He  said 
I  had  pipe  cancer — that  I'd  be  dead  inside  a 
year,  if  not  treated.  He  would  cure  me  for 
one  hundred  dollars  cash,  or  for  twenty-five 
dollars  a  month  for  five  months.  He  would 
guarantee  a  cure  in  five  months." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  go  to  him?" 

"I  did  not  like  his  line  of  talk.  Anyway 
Dr.  Lane  is  good  enough  for  me." 


44  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

So  the  treatment  began.  In  a  few  weeks 
the  mouth  was  well  and  Harry  began  to  act 
and  feel  more  like  himself.  Repeatedly  the 
doctor  explained  the  necessity  of  long  con- 
tinued treatment.  He  told  him  as  forcibly  as 
he  knew  how  that  he  should  not  think  of  mar- 
riage, at  least  not  for  two  or  three  years.  For 
fear  of  making  trouble  Harry  did  not  tell  the 
doctor  anything  about  his  plans,  his  engage* 
ment  to  Marion  or  their  wedding  as  set  for 
the  coming  June.  Winter  went  along  with  its 
round  of  work  and  social  activity.  Harry 
felt  in  excellent  health  himself — he  could  not 
be  better  he  assured  himself  and  friends.  As 
the  months  went  by,  he  saw  the  doctor  but 
rarely.  He  had  his  prescription  filled  for  me- 
dicine as  he  needed  it,  and  when  he  did  not 
go  to  the  doctor,  it  saved  a  fee.  There  is  no 
use  of  paying  a  doctor  a  dollar  or  two  for 
just  going  and  saying,  "How  do  you  do?" 
This  is  another  strange  idea  Harry  and  many 
other  people  have,  that  is,  an  unwillingness  to 
recognize  a  doctor's  service.  You  pay  the 
dentist  and  the  barber  for  certain  work,  there- 
fore, like  these  the  doctor  earns  no  fee  unless 
he  performs  some  physical  task. 

As  often  as  he  debated  the  matter  with  him- 
self the  less  reason  he  could  see  for  asking  a 
delay  in  the  marriage  plans.  In  case  he  did 
ask,  what  honest  excuse  could  he  give,  except 
the  real  one?  He  could  not  think  of  con- 
fessing to  his  future  wife  the  nature  of  the  di- 
sease which  his  own  reckless  conduct  had 


THE  PRICE  HE  PAID.  45 

brought  upon  himself.  Harry  Van  Auker 
knew  that  Marion  was  a  good  and  pure  girl 
and  he  loved  her  devotedly.  Ever  since  she 
had  come  into  his  life,  he  had  lived  in  the 
right  way.  He  argued  with  his  own  con- 
science that  he  was  like  all  the  boys,  only  he 
had  been  unlucky  in  sowing  his  "few  wild 
oats" — that  was  all,  very  unlucky. 

He  prayed  that  something  might  happen 
to  delay  the  marriage.  He  kept  faithfully  to 
his  medicine,  saying  to  himself,  "I  am  cer- 
tainly all  right  by  this  time."  Weeks  went 
by  and  nothing  happened.  The  fates  seemed 
to  smile  upon  the  happy  couple.  Business 
was  good,  money  for  the  trip  was  in  the  bank, 
and  the  week  of  the  wedding  day  came  along. 
Putting  aside  his  worries  by  force  of  will  the 
poor  fellow  entered  into  all  the  preparations 
as  happy  bridegrooms  usually  do.  Not  a 
cloud  could  be  seen  in  their  matrimonial  sky. 

The  guests  showered  presents  and  good 
wishes  upon  them.  Rice  and  old  shoes  strewed 
their  pathway  to  the  carriage  at  the  gate. 
Good  byes  were  said,  and  with  bag  and  bag- 
gage they  were  off  for  the  boat  to  take  them 
to  Europe. 

Had  Dr.  Lane  been  present  and  heard  that 
question  the  minister  put,  using  the  old  form 
of  ceremony,  "Is  there  anyone  here  present 
who  can  say  aught  against  uniting  this  twain 
in  holy  wedlock?"  he  could  have  cried  out, 
"Yea,  I  forbid,  because  the  groom  is  liable  to 
communicate  a  terrible  disease,  liable  to  curse 


46  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

his  nnborn  children.  In  the  name  of  humanity 
that  has  a  right  to  be  well  horn,  I  forbid  this 
marriage." 

But  Dr.  Lane  was  busy  with  his  patients 
and  knew  nothing  of  the  wedding.  Had  he 
known  it,  he  would  have  said  nothing.  He 
might  have  cussed  a  little  quietly  to  himself. 
He  might  have  said,  the  time  will  come  when 
it  will  require  something  more  than  two  dol- 
lars to  pay  the  preacher,  to  obtain  a  marriage 
license. 

The  honeymoon  trip  was  a  glorious  happy 
Summer.  They  worked  and  played  along  the 
shore  of  the  Irish  sea.  They  visited  all  the 
points  of  interest,  painted  ruins,  rocks  and 
Irish  peasants.  They  brought  home  a  valu- 
able collection  of  sketches,  also  many  happy 
memories  of  their  days  spent  in  this  interest- 
ing corner  of  the  world. 

October  found  them  nicely  settled  again  in 
a  home  of  their  own,  and  Marion  was  preg~ 
nant.  It  was  <as  she  wanted  it.  Her  mother- 
heart  leaped  with  joy  when  she  felt  the  first 
motions  of  life.  By  Christmas  time  she  had 
all  the  little  baby  things  ready.  It  was  such 
fun  making  them  and  arranging  everything. 

During  January  Dr.  Lane  had  a  call  from 
Harry. 

"Doctor/'  said  he,  "my  wife  has  the  same 
kind  of  sores  in  her  mouth  that  I  had  in  mine. 
You  have  no  idea  it's  the  same  trouble  have 
you?" 


THE  PRICE  HE  PAID.  47 

"Your  wife!  You  don't  mean  to  say  you 
went  and  married  after  all  I  said  to  you,  do 
you?"  The  doctor  raved  about  and  cussed  as 
vigorously  as  a  man  in  good  church  standing 
could  without  breaking  a  certain  command- 
ment. 

Then  the  husband  told  his  story.  He  plead- 
ed for  secrecy.  It  would  kill  him  to  lose  the 
love  and  respect  of  his  wife.  Surely  some 
thing  could  be  done.  What  were  doctors  good 
for  if  they  cannot  cure  people  of  things.  The 
doctor  should  treat  her  as  he  had  him.  She 
need  not  know  what  it  was.  He  did  not  care 
what  it  cost.  Just  name  any  price  he  pleased 
and  he  would  pay  it. 

"That  will  do— that  will  do.  Do  you  think 
I  am  a  medical  pirate  that  holds  up  the  victim 
because  he  is  at  my  mercy?  The  price  will  be 
just  the  usual  price.  Send  your  wife  to  me  at 
once." 

"Marion,  you  had  better  call  on  Dr.  Lane 
about  your  throat.  I  told  him  about  it  the  best 
I  could,  but  he  wants  to  see  you.  Better  go 
down  today."  This  was  Harry  Van  Auker's 
instruction  to  his  wife. 

The  doctor  was  very  kind.  His  pity  went 
out  to  this  poor  young  woman,  greater  sympa- 
thy than  he  dared  to  show.  He  admitted  she 
had  quite  a  bad  looking  throat.  He  inquired  if 
she  ever  had  any  kind  of  a  sore  anywhere  else. 
She  assured  him  that  she  never  had.  He  gave 
her  treatment  and  medicine  himself,  instead 
of  writing  a  prescription,  for  after  she  had 


48  WAYSIDE  EXPEKIENCES. 

told  him  her  condition,  he  was  determined  to 
see  the  case  through. 

Marion's  mouth  got  well  promptly,  as  did 
her  husband's,  and  she  went  along  with  usual 
good  health,  under  the  doctor's  care  up  to  the 
time  the  baby  came.  At  the  birth  of  the  child 
neither  father  or  mother  showed  any  signs  of 
the  disease,  and  the  mother  had  no  suspicion 
whatever  of  such  a  thing.  After  Mamma  Mar- 
ion  and  the  baby  went  home  from  the  hospital, 
Dr.  Xury  heard  little  of  them,  except  as  he  met 
Harry  now  and  then  on  the  street.  Harry  al- 
ways said,  "They're  doing  fine,  Doc." 

When  the  baby  was  about  three  months 
old  Mrs.  Van  Auker  called  up  the  doctor  say- 
ing, " Baby's  hair  is  coming  out.  He  is  al- 
most as  bald  as  a  little  old  man.  What  is 
the  matter  with  him?" 

"It  will  come  in  again.  Give  him  time," 
the  doctor  replied.  "Bring  him  down  and  let 
me  see  him  if  you  don't  think  he  is  doing 
well." 

A  month  later  he  had  another  call.  "Baby 
is  all  broken  out  with  a  rash,  a  scaly  rash 
all  over  his  body.  I  want  you  to  call  and  see 
him." 

The  doctor  called.  There  lay  the  little 
chap,  not  a  hair  on  his  head  and  the  whole 
body  covered  with  a  syphiloderm,  the  skin 
full  of  creases  and  wrinkles  like  old  age.  What 
could  he  say  to  that  mother?  What  ought  he 
to  say?  They  had  not  called  him  sooner  be- 
cause they  were  using  a  blood  purifier  they 


THE  PRICE  HE  PAID.  49 

had  bought  at  the  drag  store.  What  a  crime 
it  was  for  Harry  Van  Auker  to  marry  this 
good  woman,  infect  her  with  this  dreadful  di- 
sease and  then  bring  into  the  world  this  poor 
little  innocent  babe  to  suffer  and  be  cursed. 

However  the  doctor  left  his  medicine  and 
instructions,  outlined  the  care  and  treatment, 
and  went  away.  Talking  with  his  colleague, 
old  Dr.  Blunt,  about  it  he  urged  the  impor- 
tance of  marriage  laws  that  would  demand 
physical  fitness. 

"Oh,  ye*s,  I  argued  and  published  all  that 
twenty-five  years  ago.  I  advocated  laws  de- 
manding physical  examination  and  a  certifi- 
cate of  physical  fitness  before  marriage  license 
should  be  granted.  I  advocated  the  produc- 
tion of  sterility  in  victims  of  tuberculosis,  syp- 
hilis, epilepsy,  insanity  and  habitual  criminals 
and  drunkards.  Oh,  I  went  after  them  rough 
shod !  What  do  you  think  came  of  it  ? " 

"What  did  come  of  it?"  asked  Dr.  Lane. 

"Nothing.  People  said  I  was  an  old  crank. 
I  wanted  to  let  the  doctors  manage  every- 
thing. Nobody  could  get  born,  or  die  without 
employing  them,  and  now  I  wanted  to  fix  it 
so  nobody  could  get  married  without  paying 
the  doctors  a  fee." 

"Yet,  for  all  that,  it  will  come,"  said  Dr. 
Lane. 

"Perhaps,  every  little  holler  helps.  I  made 
my  holler  twenty-five  years  ago.  Now  you 
make  yours.  Meantime  hanging  is  too  good 
for  such  a  chap  as  this  of  yours." 


50  WAYSIDE  EXPEKIENCES. 

"Be  easy,  doctor,  be  easy,"  laughed  Dr. 
Xury,  "ignorance  causes  a  multitude  of  sins. 
People  have  been  squemish  so  long  about  hav- 
ing the  truths  of  life  taught  the  general  pub- 
lic that  it  is  hard  to  work  against  this  preju 
dice.  Here  and  there  light  is  breaking.  Ill 
pull  this  family  through  yet,  and  meantime 
I  guess  the  father  is  getting  his  pay  all  right. ' ' 

The  baby  did  splendidly  under  treatment. 
His  skin  cleaned  up  and  the  hair  began  to 
grow.  Inside  a  few  months  he  was  a  plump  fat- 
boy  again,  and  once  more  happiness  seemed 
at  home  in  the  Van  Auker  family  circle.  Both 
mother  and  father  were  kept  on  the  medicine. 
They  were  in  good  health,  but  it  had  been  de- 
cided there  should  be  no  more  children. 

When  the  child  was  about  two  he  seemed 
to  act  strangely  about  his  sight.  He  had  been 
a  little  slow  in  walking  but  now  that  he  did  get 
about  some  on  his  feet,  he  seemed  to  be  unable 
to  make  out  the  objects  about  him.  He  often 
stumbled  over  things,  still  the  mother  could 
not  see  anything  wrong  with  his  eyes.  Weeks 
passed  and  the  child  grew  worse  instead  of 
better.  Without  saying  anything  to  Harry, 
Marion  took  the  baby  to  an  oculist  of  whom 
she  had  heard.  He  questioned  her  closely. 
The  innocent  mother  talked  freely  of  the  ba- 
by's previous  sickness  and  of  her  own. 

"Who  was  your  doctor?"  the  oculist  asked. 

"Dr.  Lane." 

"Dr.  Xury?" 

"Yes." 


THE  PRICE  HE  PAID.  51 

"All  right,  I'll  talk  with  him.  I'll  say  now 
though,  I  think  your  baby  is  going  blind.  I 
think  he  has  a  degeneration  of  the  optic 
nerves.  I  do  not  think  we  can  save  his  sight, 
but  I  will  talk  with  Dr.  Lane  and  you  will  hear 
from  us  right  away." 

The  poor  mother  got  home  some  way,  she 
never  knew  how.  She  carried  the  child, 
hugged  close  to  her  heart,  tears  streaming 
down  her  face.  She  telephoned  at  once  for  Har- 
ry. When  he  arrived  at  the  door,  she  cried, 
"Oh,  Harry,  Harry,  baby  is  going  blind.  The 
doctor  says  so,"  and  fell  fainting  at  his  feet. 

There  was  a  rush  call  for  Dr.  Lane,  and  as 
she  lay  recovering  from  her  shock,  she  told 
him  what  the  oculist  had  said.  Then  he  ex- 
amined the  baby  himself.  After  that  he  sat 
looking  squarely  at  Harry  Van  Auker  for  sev- 
eral minutes. 

Finally  the  doctor  arose  and  said,  "You 
better  keep  quiet  a  while,  Mrs.  Van  Auker.  I 
will  see  Dr.  Anderson  on  my  way  home.  He 
is  the  best  man  you  can  employ  for  the  baby. 
He  will  save  the  sight  if  any  one  can — mind 
you,  if  any  one  can." 

In  the  hall,  when  they  were  out  of  hearing 
he  said  to  Harry,  "You  better  tell  her  every- 
thing, for  she  will  find  it  out  sooner  or  later. 
Better  tell  her  yourself  than  let  some  one 
else." 

Harry  Van  Auker  said  nothing,  but  stood 
pale  and  trembling  as  he  watched  the  doctor 
going  down  the  walk.  Do  those  who  believe 


52  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

in  a  place  of  torment,  think  a  better  hell 
could  be  invented  than  that  in  which  this  poor 
husband  now  found  himself?  Do  they  feel 
willing  to  say  that  an  All- Wise  Providence 
had  shown  a  justice  when  an  innocent  wife  and 
a  dear  sweet  babe  had  to  be  punished  for  the 
sins  of  another?  Would  any  sort  of  torture  or 
punishment  of  that  husband  and  father  set 
them  free?  It  was  to  save  just  such  innocent 
victims  as  these  that  old  Dr.  Blunt  had  wanted 
to  put  the  regulation  of  marriage  into  com- 
petent medical  hands.  So  far  the  public  has 
preferred  to  let  people  take  their  own  ignor- 
ant chances,  then  if  trouble  and  sorrow  came, 
some  one  offered  the  consolation,  "marriage 
is  all  a  lottery  anyway/' 

That  night  Harry  Van  Auker  paced  the 
floor  of  his  study.  He  could  not  sleep.  He 
could  not  face  his  wife  and  tell  her  the  truth. 
He  could  not  see  what  it  would  accomplish  if 
he  told  her.  At  times  he  prayed,  as  we  poor 
humans  often  do  when  face  to  face  with 
trouble  we  cannot  overcome. 

"My  God,  I  cannot  face  her  and  live,"  he 
said  to  himself.  Along  about  midnight  he 
crept  toward  the  bedroom  where  they  slept. 
The  little  boy  was  sleeping  in  his  crib-bed 
along  side  that  of  his  parents' — the  mother 
was  also  asleep,  her  hand  stretched  out  clasp- 
ing that  of  the  child.  Their  breath  came  and 
went  in  the  rythm  of  slumber.  He  looked  at 
them  for  a  moment  and  then  went  quietly 
down  to  the  study  again. 


THE  PEICE  HE  PAID.  53 

"Oh,  how  I  wish  we  were  all  dead,"  sobbed 
the  poor  man  as  he  resumed  his  struggle,  pac- 
ing back  and  forth  in  his  little  study-den.  At 
last  he  went  to  the  desk,  opened  a  drawer  and 
took  out  the  new  automatic  he  had  bought  for 
burglars.  Guns  made  and  advertised  for  bur- 
glars are  as  often  used  for  murder  and  sui- 
cide. 

Yes,  he  would  end  it  all.  He  laid  the  gun 
on  the  table  before  him  and  sat  down  to  think. 
He  thought  of  the  past.  He  lived  again  the 
happy  days  on  the  Irish  coast.  He  heard  his 
wife's  laughter  as  they  romped  like  children. 
He  thought  of  the  future.  His  success  ruined, 
his  home  broken  up,  his  life  blighted.  Yes, 
it  would  be  better  if  they  were  all  dead. 

He  would  go  up  stairs  quietly,  shoot  them 
and  then  himself.  It  would  be  a  painless  in- 
stant death.  Still  how  could  he  do  it?  How 
could  he  kill  the  wife  he  loved  so  dearly  and 
the  poor  little  child  of  his  heart?  All  the  love 
for  his  wife  welled  up  in  his  mind,  and  he 
shook  with  his  sobs. 

Presently  he  grew  quiet.  He  could  not 
face  death  as  a  murderer.  He  could  how- 
ever end  it  all  for  himself.  His  life  was  his 
own  and  he  had  a  rig*ht  to  do  what  he  pleased 
with  it.  There  was  a  good  life  insurance  and 
some  property — enough  to  provide  for  them 
very  well.  Again  life  insurance  like  guns  may 
lead  to  suicide.  That  would  be  the  simplest 
and  best  way. 


54  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

Taking  pen  and  paper,  he  began  to  write: 

My  beloved  wife — I  cannot  face  you 
and  live  with  the  terrible  knowledge  of 
how  I  have  wronged  you  and  our  child.     I 
did  not  mean  this  harm  should  come — I 
was  ignorant — believe  me  dear,  and  for- 
give me.     I  thought  the  disease  was  cured. 
You  will  be  better  off  when  I  am  gone. 

Say  it  was  an  accident.  Good  bye, 
Marion,  sweetheart,  Try  to  forgive  me  if 
you  can,  I  cannot  forgive  myself. 

Harry. 

Then  he  placed  the  paper  weight  upon  the 
sheet  he  had  written  and  took  up  the  gun. 
He  looked  into  the  frowning  muzzle  and  won- 
dered where  he  had  better  aim.  He  thought 
of  himself  in  the  coffin,  and  remembering  of 
reading  about  a  suicide  case  where  the  man 
shot  himself  in  the  mouth,  he  decided  this 
would  be  the  best  and  surest  way,  he  did  not 
want  to  suffer.  Bracing  his  feet  against  the 
table  legs,  he  opened  his  mouth  and  lifted  the 
gun  toward  it. 


Some  time  during  the  night  Marion  awoke 
and  discovered  that  Harry  was  not  in  bed. 
She  wondered  why.  She  looked  about  and  de- 
cided that  he  had  not  come  to  bed  at  all.  The 
baby  was  sleeping  soundly.  She  listened. 
Once  she  thought  she  heard  someone  talking. 
A  sudden  intuition  of  harm  and  danger  came 
over  her  and  she  slipped  hastily  from  the  bed. 
Her  bare  feet  made  no  noise  on  the  stairs  as 


THE  PRICE  HE  PAID.  55 

she  crept  down  to  the  floor  below.  She  saw 
the  light  coming  from  the  den,  and  she  drew 
the  hangings  aside  slightly  and  looked  in. 
There  she  saw  her  husband  sitting  at  the  table 
writing,  and  before  him  lay  the  gun.  So  in- 
tent was  he  that  he  neither  saw  nor  heard  the 
white  figure  that  crept  up  and  stood  behind 
his  chair.  Just  as  he  lifted  the  gun  and  plac- 
ed it  toward  his  mouth  her  white  hand  shot 
out  and  snatched  the  weapon  away.  When  the 
man  opened  his  eyes,  he  was  staring  into  the 
horror  stricken  face  of  his  wife. 

"  Harry  Van  Auker,  what  are  you  doing?" 
she  cried  almost  in  a  scream. 

"Read,"  he  said  hoarsely,  pointing  to  the 
paper  on  the  table.  Holding  the  paper  in  one 
hand,  and  the  gun  in  the  other,  she  slowly  read 
the  note.  Gradually  the  hand  holding  it  droop- 
ed and  the  paper  fell  to  the  floor.  She  turned, 
put  the  gun  into  the  drawer,  turned  the  key 
and  hid  it  among  the  books.  Tears  now  blind- 
ed her,  but  dimly  she  saw  where  her  hus- 
band was  sitting,  and  she  fell  into  his  arms. 


It  is  only  fair  that  we  should  leave  this 
husband  and  wife  to  settle  their  own  affairs. 
No  outsider  can  assist  them  now — their  trou- 
bles are  all  their  own. 

It  was  evidently  settled  someway,  for  Har- 
ry Van  Auker  is  still  a  successful  artist  and 
illustrator,  and  for  all  we  know  the  home 
is  a  happy  one,  as  happy  as  it  could  be  under 
the  circumstances.  I  often  see  the  mother 


56  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

with  the  child,  always  she  leads  him  by  the 
hand.  His  great  brown  eyes  look  but  they 
see  not.  Under  treatment  the  boy  is  growing 
and  in  apparent  good  health,  but  that  Fate 
which  decrees  that  the  sins  of  the  fathers  shall 
go  down  to  the  sons,  has  given  him  a  world  of 
darkness.  Two  devoted  parents  may  spend 
all  manner  of  care  and  effort  in  his  behalf,  but 
still  his  world  will  be  dark. 

Dr.  Xury  has  given  me  the  facts  for  this 
story,  of  course  in  strictest  professional  con- 
fidence. He  says  that  Harry  is  a  changed  man. 
He  has  paid  a  high  price  for  his  folly  and  his 
ignorance. 

What  a  blessing  it  would  be  if  every  young 
man  could  know  what  he  knows  now,  and  if 
every  young  woman  knew  what  Marion  knows 
now.  How  true  it  is  we  need  another  life  to 
make  use  of  what  we  learn  in  this.  How  true 
too,  that  saying:  Experience  is  a  good  teach- 
er, but  the  price  is  high. 

Harry  Van  Auker  is  paying  the  price. 


The  Confession  of  a  Second  Wife 

I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  I  am  going  to 
say  will  help  any  marriageable  girl  along  the 
path  of  wisdom.  Pew  of  us  care  to  take  ad- 
vice about  our  love  affairs.  I  know  I  couldn't, 
though  the  truth  is  I  had  no  one  to  advise  me. 
It  seems  as  if  we  must  get  our  learning  in  the 
school  of  experience — some  write  it  with  capi- 
tals— from  the  pumps  of  life,  from  the  hard 
knocks.  I  am  not  lamenting  this,  for  it  seems 
to  be  the  plan  of  Providence  or  Fate.  It  is 
what  is  laid  out  for  us  poor  atoms  of  the  uni- 
verse, learning  over  and  over  again  each  gen- 
eration, the  ways  of  life  and  Nature. 

Neither  can  I  say  I  would  not  do  it  all  over 
again,  knowing  what  I  know  now,  for  there  is 
compensation.    It  is  a  poor  soul  that  has  noth- 
ing to  compensate,  to  offset.    In  my  case  there 
is  our  great  love — my  husband's  and  mine,  and 
that  is  enough.     We  are  our  own  world,  and, 
"  Nobody  knows  but  God  and  I, 
What  is  in  my  heart. ' ' 

We  know,  Jerry  and  I,  that  our  lives  are 
good.  We  know  too,  what  a  difference  there  is 
between  what  we  are  and  what  people  think 
we  are.  It  is  nice,  I  admit,  to  have  everyone 
think  you  are  good  and  be  good  too,  and  it  is 
also  very  nice  to  have  people  think  you  are  good 
when  you're  not.  Most  people  care  more 
about  reputation  than  they  do  about  character, 


58  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

but  my  husband  is  not  one  of  these.  I  think 
this  fact  has  made  it  especially  hard  for  me.  A 
man  can  be  stiff-necked  and  independent.  He 
can  look  the  world  in  the  eye  and  tell  it  to  go 
to  hell,  as  he  says,  but,  dear  me,  a  woman  can't 
do  that  or  anything  like  it.  A  woman  must 
be  very  tactful  and  discreet,  for  she  has  in  her 
own  sex  her  very  worst  critics  and  her  most 
subtle  enemies.  "Ink  fishes,"  Jerry  calls  them, 
and  then  he  will  hand  out  a  long  dissertation  on 
the  double  moral  standard,  and  bifocal  ethics. 
Jerry  is  certainly  a  radical. 

However,  I  must  not  wander  from  the  story 
I  have  determined  to  tell.  Even  though  I  have 
expressed  my  doubts  about  its  usefulness,  still  it 
may  help  some  poor  girl  situated  as  I  was,  to 
see  what  is  before  her,  even  though  it  does  not 
cause  her  to  change  her  course.  If  just  one 
gets  a  bit  of  help,  I  shall  not  have  written  in 
vain. 

When  I  was  nineteen  all  I  had  in  this  world 
was  good  health,  fairly  good  looks — my  hair 
and  complexion  being  enough  to  save  me  from 
lapsing  into  the  unattractive  class — and  a 
strong  ambition  to  forget  my  foster  mother.  It 
was  then  Dr.  Jerry  came  into  my  life.  My 
father  had  married  beneath  him,  they  said, 
which  meant  he  had  married  a  poor  man's 
daughter,  instead  of  a  rich  one.  Just  as  it 
usually  happens  his  father  had  cut  him  off  and 
he  had  to  join  the  working  class,  a  thing  he 
was  proud  to  do,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to 
some  people.  I  can  just  remember  him,  a  pale 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.       59 

blue-eyed  man,  with  gentle  ways.  It  was  I  who 
found  him  dead  in  his  bed — I,  a  child  of  five, 
sent  by  my  mother  to  call  him  to  his  breakfast. 

''Papa  won't  wake  up,"  I  called  down  to 
her  from  the  stairs.  I  did  not  know  what  death 
meant  then.  I  realized  it  meant  something 
dreadful  by  the  way  it  affected  my  mother. 
When  they  came  and  carried  my  papa  away 
and  put  him  in  the  ground,  I  began  to  under- 
stand that  I  should  not  have  any  papa  again. 
A  year  later  my  mother  followed  him,  from 
broken  heart,  they  told  me  when  I  was  older. 

Child  though  I  was,  I  realized  then  that  I 
was  alone  in  the  world  and  that  no  one  really 
loved  me.  My  poor  old  hardworking  grand- 
father could  not  provide  for  me  and  was  glad 
enough  when  Mrs.  Sam  Jerkins  proposed  ' '  tak- 
ing" me. 

The  first  years  of  my  stay  in  the  Jerkins 
home,  a  home  that  God  and  nature  seemed  to 
have  intended  should  be  childless,  are  rather 
dim  in  my  memory  now,  though  I  distinctly  re- 
call how  I  disliked  this  ugly  woman  who  pro- 
posed to  take  my  dead  mother's  place.  She 
called  me  "my  little  girl"  and  "our  little  girl." 
My  mamma  was  beautiful  and  had  such  wavy 
red-brown  hair,  and  when  she  smiled,  showed 
such  even  white  teeth,  you  just  wanted  to  kiss 
her.  No  one  could  take  her  place,  surely  not 
Mrs.  Jerkins,  with  her  one  fang  tooth  sticking 
out  over  her  lip.  When  this  woman  smiled  it 
made  me  feel  sick  with  dislike.  Her  tall  and 
slender  form,  her  wisp  of  hair  twisted  in  a  tight 


60  WAYSIDE  EXPEEIENCES. 

little  wad  on  the  back  of  her  head — her  whole 
personality  was  so  repulsive  to  me,  a  little  child 
though  I  was,  that  years  have  only  intensified  it. 

I  can  see  now  that  I  have  grown  older,  she 
meant  well  enough,  but  I  am  sure  God  never 
intended  she  should  have  the  care  of  children, 
which  may  be  the  reason  none  ever  came  to 
them.  Yet  she  seemed  to  delight  in  showing 
me  off.  She  would  say  to  people,  "What  do 
you  think  of  our  girl?"  Such  remarks  made 
me  so  angry  I  am  sure  they  did  not  think  well 
of  me.  I  was  ashamed  of  her  and  her  deceit- 
ful ways.  She  really  wanted  to  make  people 
think  I  was  her  very  own. 

Once  when  the  minister  was  calling,  she 
prattled  on  about  "our  little  daughter,"  al- 
lowing the  good  man  to  believe  I  was  their  own 
child,  and  he  was  a  new  minister  too.  My  child 
temper  got  the  best  of  me,  and  I  cried  out,  "I 
am  not  your  girl.  My  papa  and  mama  are 
dead,"  and  I  rushed  out  of  the  room.  When 
the  preacher  had  gone  she  found  me  out  and 
said  I  had  the  same  as  called  her  a  liar.  I  must 
be  punished  she  said,  and  she  beat  me  with  one 
of  Sam's  slippers.  It  is  a  great  wrong  for  a 
child  to  hate  anyone  as  I  hated  this  woman. 

Of  course  I  went  to  school.  That  was  one 
consolation.  I  had  to  spend  less  time  with  Mrs. 
Jerkins.  On  my  way  back  one  day,  I  found  a 
forlorn  little  kitten  and  I  carried  it  home.  I 
knew  what  a  storm  it  would  raise  if  I  let  her 
see  it,  so  I  slipped  into  the  basement  with  it, 
fixed  a  nest  and  fed  it  milk  I  had  filched  from 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.      61 

the  kitchen.  This  poor  little  animal  seemed  so 
like  myself,  so  friendless  and  lonely,  that  my 
love  went  to  it  forcibly.  However,  it  died  next 
day. 

I  found  a  shoe  box  for  a  coffin  and  dug  a 
grave  in  the  corner  of  the  garden.  I  made  a 
soft  bed  of  cotton  for  my  little  dead  friend  and 
laid  it  tenderly  to  rest.  I  sang,  "  Jesus  Lover 
of  my  soul,"  and  said  "dust  to  dust"  as  I 
shoveled  in  the  dirt.  On  a  piece  of  board  I 
wrote,  or  printed,  rather,  "Kittie  Keller,  Died 

. ' '  I  would  not  admit  the  name  Jerkins  for 

myself  or  my  dead  cat. 

"Silly  child,  come  in  here  and  red  up  the 
dishes,"  said  Mrs.  Jerkins,  when  she  discovered 
my  occupation.  "Sam'll'tend  to  you  when  he 
gets  home." 

Often  the  old  jade  would  lie,  magnify  and 
misrepresent  my  acts  in  order  to  cause  Sam  to 
"tend"  to  me.  But  the  good  old  man  under- 
stood, usually.  He  would  take  me  on  his  knee 
and  talk  to  me.  Had  he  not  been  so  dirty  with 
his  tobacco  juice  I  should  have  liked  him  very 
well,  or  had  he  not  been  the  husband  of  Mrs. 
Jerkins.  He  was  an  ignorant  old  chap,  honest 
and  kind.  I  remember  still  how  rough  his 
hands  were  and  how  in  Winter  they  were  full 
of  cracks  and  bled  at  times.  For  this  he  would 
pour  the  cracks  full  of  melted  tallow,  saying, 
"There,  I'll  bet  that'll  fix  'em." 

Often  when  I  carried  his  dinner  bucket  to 
the  mill,  he  would  thank  me  with  a  penny  or  a 


62  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

nickel.  Don 't  tell  mother, ' '  he  would  say, '  *  and 
spend  it  for  candy  on  your  way  home." 

If  Mrs.  Jerkins  discovered  I  had  candy  she 
would  pounce  upon  me,  shake  me  by  the  shoul- 
ders, saying,  "Mable  Jerkins,  you've  been 
stealing.  Where  did  you  get  money  to  buy 
candy?" 

"I  ain't  been  stealing  and  I  ain't  Mable  Jer- 
kins," I  would  say. 

"Well,  Jerkins  is  good  enough  to  get  your 
food  and  clothes  with,  an'  it's  good  as  Keller 
anyday,  Miss  Mable!" 

Imagine  a  character  like  this  for  a  daily  ex- 
ample to  a  child.  Indeed  it  seems  to  me,  as 
I  look  back  to  those  years,  it  is  a  wonder  that 
I  had  any  redeeming  traits  whatever.  I  was 
her  errand  runner,  water  and  coal  lugger,  and 
I  did  tasks  that  no  child  of  my  age  should  have 
been  asked  to  do.  Eaeh  year  my  dislike  for  this 
woman  increased. 

I  was  never  allowed  to  have  even  girl 
friends  come  to  the  house,  and  had  a  boy  friend 
shown  his  face  inside  the  gate  it  would  have 
caused  a  Jerkins  earthquake.  The  only  pleas- 
ure I  had  with  my  school  friends  was  away 
from  home. 

You  may  wonder  what  all  this  I  am  telling 
you  of  my  childhood,  has  to  do  with  the  con- 
fessions of  a  second  wife.  It  is  that  I  want  you 
to  know  the  experiences  I  had  which  led  up 
to  the  meeting  of  my  husband.  At  fourteen 
I  was  sent  to  work  in  a  store,  and  my  foster 
mother  took  my  wages  regularly.  I  had  to  ac- 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.      63 

count  for  every  cent  I  spent.    She  was  surely 
trying  to  make  me  a  good  investment. 

Before  I  went  to  the  store  I  had  become 
quite  a  successful  peddler.  Mrs.  Jerkins  was 
constantly  answering  advertisements  and  get- 
ting something  for  me  to  sell  from  door  to  door. 
There  was  soap,  jewelry,  kitchen  utensils  and 
what  not.  I  was  instructed  how  to  say  I  only 
lacked  one  more  to  fill  up  my  club.  Would  the 
kind  lady  help  me  out?  Had  Dickins  known 
Mrs.  Jerkins  he  would  have  used  her  as  a  cha 
racter  as  remarkable  as  Fagin.  I  am  glad  Dick- 
ins  never  knew  her.  I  wish  I  never  had. 

When  I  was  seventeen  and  seemed  quite  a 
young  woman,  I  worked  in  a  lumber  office.  My 
salary  was  then  six  dollars  a  week,  but  my 
keeper  never  allowed  it  to  stay  in  my  hands.  I 
longed  for  another  year  to  pass,  then  I  resolved, 
I  would  say  good  bye  to  the  Jerkins'  home  for- 
ever. I  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  Mrs.  Jerkins 
my  intention,  and  she  informed  me  that  I  was 
"an  ungrateful  young  huzzy." 

"Where  would  you  be  now  if  we  hadn't 
took  ye  in  when  ye  didn't  have  a  place  to  sleep 
even?" 

I  had  long  ago  ceased  disputing  with  this 
woman.  She  was  just  too  ignorant  to  under- 
stand. I  was  grateful,  especially  to  Sam,  but 
this  could  never  offset  the  insult  and  degrada- 
tion she  had  imposed  upon  me,  a  helpless  lit- 
tle child. 

Near  the  lumber  office  was  a  little  park  and 
as  I  passed  either  going  or  coming,  frequently 


64  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

I  saw  a  nicely  dressed  woman  sitting  on  one  of 
the  benches.  She  smiled  and  spoke  to  me. 
After  this  had  happened  a  few  times  she  called 
me  to  her  and  we  talked  a  few  minutes.  Nearly 
every  pleasant  evening  she  would  be  waiting 
for  me  as  I  finished  my  work,  and  we  would 
walk  home  together.  Little  by  little  she  drew 
out  my  sad  story,  and  once  she  went  to  the  Jer- 
kins home  with  me.  There  she  spoke  a  few 
words  with  my  foster  mother.  Mrs.  Jerkins 
was  very  cold  and  told  the  lady  she  "didn't 
care  to  have  her  daughter  pickin'  up  with 
strangers. ' ' 

The  next  day  I  was  paid  my  six  dollars.  I 
went  home  gathered  my  few  belongings  in  a 
bundle  and  wrote  a  note  for  Mrs.  Jerkins.  In 
it  I  told  her  I  would  trouble  her  no  longer; 
that  I  was  leaving  her  for  good ;  that  if  ever 
I  were  able  I  would  repay  her  for  what  she  had 
done  for  me. 

She  was  talking  over  the  back  fence  with 
a  neighbor.  I  could  hear  her  voice  as  I  wrote 
— how  I  hated  that  voice — I  heard  her  cackling 
laugh.  Fearing  she  might  come  in  I  scrambled 
my  things  together,  left  my  note  on  the  kitchen 
table  and  ran  out  the  front  door. 

I  was  to  meet  my  friend  at  the  station  and 
there  I  found  her  waiting.  I  have  never  known 
much  about  this  woman,  or  who  she  was.  It 
came  afterwards  to  me  that  she  was  a  woman  of 
questionable  repute,  but  surely  she  treated  me 
kindly  and  gave  me  good  advice.  She  evidently 
knew  the  world,  and  she  may  have  been  testing 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.       65 

herself  to  see  if  she  was  not  altogether  bad.  I 
had  confided  in  her  my  ambition  to  become  a 
nurse.  She  approved  of  the  idea.  She  took 
me  now  to  a  much  larger  city  two  or  three 
hundred  miles  from  my  home,  and  there  left 
me  with  the  Mother  Superior  of  a  large  Catho- 
lic hospital. 

I  had  not  been  reared  in  the  Catholic  faith, 
yet  this  good  woman  soon  became  like  a  mother 
to  me.  She  was  the  first  person,  since  my  par- 
ents had  died  that  I  really  loved.  Think  of  a 
child  with  as  empty  a  heart  as  mine.  It  was 
she  who  protected  me  from  Mrs.  Jerkins,  and 
under  whose  care.  I  was  made  a  competent  pro- 
fessional nurse. 

I  had  not  been  at  the  hospital  a  year  before 
Mrs.  Jerkins'  letters  began  to  come.  She  not 
only  wrote  to  me  but  to  the  Sisters.  In  these 
letters  she  called  me  a  thief  and  a  liar.  She 
said  I  ran  away  with  a  common  woman,  and  sht 
did  everything  she  could  to  drive  me  away  from 
the  place.  When  I  received  one  of  these  let- 
ters, or  she  received  one,  the  good  sister  would 
comfort  me,  saying  she  understood,  not  to 
mind;  that  this  woman  was  insane  or  some- 
thing. The  letters — such  a  jumble  of  illiterate 
falsehood  and  obscenity  I  never  realized  could 
be  written,  and  that  by  a  woman.  After  this 
had  gone  on  for  some  months,  the  Mother  Su 
perior  had  a  lawyer  write  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sam  Jerkins,  telling  them  if  any  more  letters  of 
the  kind  came,  he  would  put  the  whole  matter 
in  the  hands  of  the  postal  authorities  to  deal 


66  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

with  as  they  saw  fit.  Poor  old  Sam  could  not 
read,  so  I  doubt  if  he  ever  knew  anything  about 
it.  In  any  case,  we  received  no  more  letters. 

It  was  at  the  hospital  I  met  Jerry.  We 
all  liked  him,  thirty  or  forty  of  us  nurses. 
When  I  was  on  night  duty  for  my  ward,  he 
would  often  sit  by  my  table  and  talk.  Dr.  Jerry 
knew  it  was  against  the  rules,  but  the  Mother 
Superior  thought  as  much  of  him  as  any  of  the 
rest  of  us,  so  he  was  a  privileged  character. 
Then  too,  Dr.  Jerry  was  one  of  the,  if  not  the 
rising  young  surgeon  of  the  institution. 

By  and  by,  especially  during  my  senior  year, 
Dr.  Jerry  used  to  select  me  to  take  out  on  pri- 
vate cases.  The  hospital  collected  my  fees,  but 
I  was  glad  of  that,  glad  to  repay  them  what  I 
could  for  all  they  had  done  for  me.  Once 
when  riding  to  a  case,  Dr.  Jerry  turned  his  car 
out  into  a  country  road. 

"There  is  no  hurry,"  he  said,  when  I  in- 
quired why  he  was  going  that  way,  ''little 
fresh  air  will  do  you  good. ' ' 

On  this  ride  he  talked  to  me  about  himself. 
I  had  never  had  a  man  talk  to  me  that  way  be- 
fore. I  was  past  nineteen  then  and  he  was 
thirty-five.  He  told  me  of  his  unhappy  married 
life.  I  have  read  since  that  men  are  prone  to 
make  confessions  about  their  domestic  unhappi- 
ness  to  young  girls.  I  did  not  know  then  what 
strange  animals  men  are.  He  said  his  wife 
was  a  good  woman,  but  it  had  been  a  mistake 
from  the  first.  He  had  been  too  young  to  know 
what  he  was  doing  then.  She  was  a  few  years 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.       67 

his  senior  and  had  become  his  mother  instead 
of  his  wife.  She  played  the  part  of  a  jealous 
keeper.  He  thanked  God  there  were  no  chil- 
dren. 

As  soon  as  he  had  any  cause,  he  said  he 
would  make  the  break.  He  would  make  it 
kindly  and  decently  if  he  could,  but  was  bound 
to  make  it  some  way  sooner  or  later. 

"What  I  need,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "is  a 
young  wife,  one  who  will  be  my  companion  and 
friend  instead  of  my  guardian.  If  I  were  free 
today,  Mable,  I'd  ask  you  to  fill  that  place.  I 
have  learned  to  love  you  more  than  I  ever 
thought  possible." 

"Oh,  Dr.  Jerry,"  I  cried,  "you  mustn't  talk 
to  me  that  way.  It  isn't  right." 

"Right  or  wrong,  it's  true.  What's  the  use, 
I  say,  little  girl,  what's  the  use?  We've  only 
one  life  to  live,  here  at  least,  and  if  we  don't 
get  happiness  out  of  it  someway  as  we  go  along, 
we  don't  get  any  good  from  living,  do  we?" 

I  didn't  know  what  to  say.  I  had  no  ex- 
perience with  men,  and  not  much  with  his  kind 
of  world  either.  I  thought  of  Mrs.  Jerkins 
and  wondered  if  the  doctor's  wife  was  any- 
thing like  her.  Mrs.  Jerkins  made  me  feel  sor- 
ry for  him,  just  as  I  had  been  sorry  for  myself. 
Presently  after  we  had  been  silent  for  some 
time,  while  his  car  went  purring  along  the 
smooth  country  road,  he  asked  abruptly  if  1  did 
not  love  him. 

"Yes,  we  all  like  you,  Dr.  Jerry." 


68  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"No,  I  mean  you,  not  we.  Do  you  not  love 
me  for  myself.  Suppose  I  were  free  today  and 
asked  you  to  marry  me,  what  would  you  say, 
Mable?" 


Mable?" 

"I  think  I'd  say  yes,  doctor,  at  least,  by 
and  by  maybe.  ' ' 

"Then  kiss  me  now." 

I  kissed  him,  first  looking  if  anybody  was 
about,  to  see  us.  My,  how  jolly  wicked  I 
felt !  Someway  the  other  woman  did  not  seem 
to  concern  me.  It  was  not  my  affair.  All  that 
was  Dr.  Jerry 's  affairs,  not  mine.  I  have  had 
those  who  told  me  since  I  should  have  had  noth- 
ing whatever  to  do  with  a  married  man.  I  ad- 
mit this  may  have  been  good  advise,  still  I 
could  not  help  how  things  turned  out. 

Well,  matters  went  along  about  as  usual  for 
several  months.  I  had  by  this  time  finished 
my  work  at  the  hospital  and  had  received  my 
nurse's  certificate.  Dr.  Jerry  and  his  friend 
kept  me  busy  most  of  the  time.  How  rich  I  felt, 
earning  a  professional  nurse's  salary — all  my 
own.  I  admit  I  took  some  pride  in  my  clothes — 
my  appearance  you  know.  People  seemed  to 
like  me  all  the  better  for  that.  I  knew  I  was 
no  less  efficient  because  I  insisted  on  my  uni- 
forms and  all  that  goes  to  make  up  an  outfit, 
being  immaculate.  They  just  had  to  admit  my 
competency.  Some  of  the  money  I  earned  I  sent 
to  poor  old  Sam  Jerkins.  All  I  received  from 
them  was  the  return  registered  letter  cards. 
By  this  time  Jerry  had  left  his  wife  and  one 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.      69 

day  he  told  me  he  had  determined  to  change  his 
location  to  another  town. 

"  As  soon  as  1  get  a  start,  I  will  get  you  work 
there  and  you  will  come,  won't  you?  I  must 
be  near  you,"  he  said.  What  could  I  do  but 
agree,  and  why  should  I  not  ?  I  had  no  one  else 
but  Jerry,  and  I  have  no  one  still. 

After  he  had  been  gone  a  few  weeks,  his 
wife  called  on  me.  She  wanted  to  see,  she  said, 
the  woman  that  was  coming  between  her  and 
her  husband.  I  did  not  know  how  to  take  her, 
or  what  to  say.  I  was  afraid  of  her  in  a  way. 
She  called  me  a  poor  deluded  child.  She  did 
not  blame  me,  she  said,  I  did  not  know  what  I 
was  doing.  Then  she  went  on  telling  me  a  long 
story  of  her  domestic  history.  She  made  Jerry 
out  a  brute  and  a  rascal  and  warned  me  I  would 
live  to  rue  the  day  I  ever  met  him,  just  as  she 
did. 

"If  the  doctor  is  such  a  bad  man,  why  do 
you  care  about  all  this?"  I  asked. 

"I  don't  care,  believe  me.  I  am  only  too 
glad  to  be  rid  of  him.  All  I  want  is  justice 
now  and  the  court  will  give  me  that,  depend 
on  it." 

The  more  she  maligned  Dr.  Jerry  the  more 
I  seemed  to  like  him.  While  I  had  done  noth- 
ing wrong  as  I  saw  it,  Jerry's  wife  made  it  her 
business  to  see  that  everybody  thought  I  was 
the  cause  of  her  divorce  action.  I  was  not  the 
cause  of  her  troubles  and  Jerry  has  repeatedly 
said  so.  There  was  bound  to  be  a  break  up  in 
that  home,  and  had  I  not  come  along  to  take  a 


70  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

place  in  his  life,  there  would  have  been  some- 
one else,  no  doubt. 

My  work  fell  almost  to  nothing  after  Jerry 
left  the  town.  I  went  to  Mother  Superior  ask- 
ing her  what  I  had  better  do.  She  believed  in 
me  and  said  Dr.  Jerry  was  very  unwise  to  allow 
such  a  misfortune  to  come  to  an  innocent  girl. 

Someway,  however,  I  did  not  blame  him. 
My  love  perhaps,  made  me  blind  to  what  might 
be  called  the  hard  facts  and  no  doubt  I  was  a 
biased  judge.  He  wrote  me  of  his  lonely  strug- 
gle to  get  a  professional  start  in  the  new  town 
to  which  he  had  gone.  He  said  his  wife  had 
started  her  divorce  action  and  he  would  not  ap- 
pear to  oppose  her,  no  matter  what  she  made 
out  in  her  petition.  Let  her  make  it  out  as 
badly  as  she  pleased.  The  worst  she  made  it 
the  sooner  she  would  set  him  free.  He  had 
given  her  everything  he  had  in  the  world,  and 
all  he  asked  was  that  she  should  let  him  alone. 
But  she  did  not  do  that,  for  she  easily  found 
persons  or  friends  in  the  town  where  he  had  Lo 
cated,  and  soon  set  the  gossiping  tongues  busy 
with  his  affairs.  This  is  a  subtle  way  that  a 
woman  can  use  to  take  her  sweet  revenge  on  the 
man  who  has  failed  to  make  her  happy.  You 
will  notice  I  do  not  say,  revenge  on  the  man 
she  has  failed  to  make  happy,  for  I  realized 
how  few  unsuccessful  wives  will  admit  any 
blame  to  themselves.  Maybe  I  would  be  like 
all  the  rest  under  like  circumstances,  but  I  do 
not  think  so  now. 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.       71 

It  was  my  good  friend,  the  Mother  Super- 
ior, who  came  to  me  at  last  telling  me  I  had 
been  made  corespondent  in  the  divorce  case,  and 
that  plenty  of  witnesses  were  at  hand  to  say 
how  often  I  had  been  seen  riding  with  the  doc- 
tor, etc.  She  advised  me  to  get  my  credentials 
together  and  leave  the  place.  No  matter  how 
innocent  I  may  be,  my  chances  for  work  and 
success  there  had  been  ruined.  This  advice  I 
followed  at  once,  going  to  a  city  of  size  in  the 
middle  West.  There  I  landed,  a  lonely  little 
stranger,  with  my  suit  case  and  trunk,  a  few 
dollars  of  my  savings  and  just  one  friend  in  all 
the  world  that  I  could  really  call  my  own,  Dr. 
Jerry.  And  all  I  had  of  him  was  his  letters. 
Don't  think  I  am  forgetting  the  good  Sisters 
at  the  hospitals  and  the  nurses,  but  some  way 
they  seemed  a  long  way  off  and  I  was  very 
much  alone. 

I  was  lucky  at  this  place.  I  found  work  al- 
most from  the  start.  My  boarding  house  with 
a  widow  lady  was  homelike,  and  she  began  to 
mother  me  at  once,  a  good  soul.  I  was  not 
much  at  home  with  her,  for  one  or  two  doctors 
took  a  fancy  to  me,  and  after  the  first  case  or 
two,  when  I  had  proven  my  competency,  they 
kept  me  at  work.  It  was  not  altogether  a  game 
of  catching  somebody's  fancy.  Still  I  always 
felt  as  if  I  should  have  had  a  much  harder  time 
had  I  been  altogether  plain,  even  far  more  cap- 
able. In  the  hospital  we  were  taught  to  be 
motion  machines  without  emotion.  The  ideal 
nurse  we  were  told,  was  one  with  no  feelings  of 


72  WAYSIDE  EXPEBIENCES. 

her  own  that  might  come  between  her  and 
duty.  This  hardening  of  the  heart  may  be  well 
enough  in  institutional  work,  but  I  found  it 
paid  me  well  to  show  an  interest  in  people 
when  I  began  my  work  outside.  I  therefore 
tried  to  be  nice  to  everybody. 

I  soon  had  several  men  who  wanted  to  be 
especially  friendly  in  one  way  or  another,  but 
I  repulsed  them  all  as  kindly  as  I  could.  Dr. 
Jerry  always  came  into  my  mind.  I  saw  him 
working  away  alone,  doing  his  best  to  make 
our  future  happiness  possible.  Every  letter 
was  full  of  his  plans  and  hopes.  Success  was 
coming  slowly.  My  work  and  these  letters 
were  all  I  had  to  live  for  then. 

There  was  one  thing  I  gave  Mrs.  Jerkins  cre- 
dit for.  She  made  me  believe  a  cent  was  a  very 
great  thing  and  it  was  easy  for  me  to  be  pru- 
dent and  saving  with  my  money.  While  I  lik- 
ed nice  things  I  did  not  spend  a  dollar  foolish- 
ly. The  good  Sisters  had  added  to  my  practi- 
cal ideas  of  life  and  things.  Before  the  year 
I  worked  at  this  place  was  up,  I  had  quite  a  lit- 
tle fund  in  the  savings  bank  and  it  was  a  source 
of  great  comfort  to  me.  Money  can  be  a  good 
friend  to  us,  as  well  as  a  bad  enemy. 

After  I  had  been  away  from  Jerry  about  a 
year,  I  received  a  telegram  one  day.  It  said  the 
divorce  was  granted  and  he  was  coming  for 
me.  I  was  happy,  there  is  no  need  to  deny 
that.  As  soon  as  he  arrived  and  hugged  me  in 
his  big  arms,  I  knew  everything  would  be  all 
right.  We  immediately  went  for  the  license 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.       73 

and  a  judge  at  the  court  house  married  us. 
That  night  we  took  the  train  for  the  West  and 
our  honeymoon  trip  found  us  in  Denver  and  at 
other  places  of  interest  among  those  wonderful 
mountains  of  Colorado. 

When  the  month  we  had  planned  to  spend 
was  over,  Jerry  said,  "Now  we'll  go  back  and 
beard  the  lion  in  his  den.'* 

You  may  think  I  have  been  a  long  time  com- 
ing to  the  point  in  my  story  where  the  "con- 
fessions of  a  second  wife"  begin,  but  I  could 
not  make  you  know  me  and  what  I  am  in  any 
other  way.  The  first  year  of  our  married  life 
I  was  Jerry's  office  nurse.  It  was  lovely  to  be 
with  him  again,  working  together,  just  as  we 
used  to  at  the  hospital  only  now  a  hundred 
times  dearer.  We  had  a  cute  little  apart- 
ment attached  to  the  office,  and  these  we  fixed 
up  as  fast  as  we  could.  Here  my  savings  ac- 
count came  into  good  use.  It  was  the  first  real 
home  I  had  ever  known.  Our  evenings  we 
spent  playing  chess,  reading  or  with  music.  If 
we  went  out  it  was  to  the  theatre  or  to  some 
public  place.  Scarcely  anyone  sought  our  ac- 
quaintance, and  though  the  doctor  was  becom- 
ing quite  generally  known,  we  did  not  seem 
to  have  any  social  advantages  or  opportunities 
— indeed  we  did  not  seek  any.  We  were  so  hap- 
py together  we  did  not  seem  to  miss  these 
things.  You  may  readily  understand  from  the 
experiences  I  have  related,  I  was  entirely  inex- 
perienced in  social  affairs,  and  knew  nothing  of 
the  ways  and  means  of  social  climbers.  I  hated 


74  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

snobbery  as  much  as  I  used  to  hate  Mrs.  Jer- 
kins. 

I  had  learned  never  to  say  anything  person- 
al to  anyone,  and  never  to  repeat  what  was  said 
to  me.  Some  of  the  apartment  neighbors  were 
friendly  and  talkative,  but  they  could  not  un- 
derstand why  I  did  not  join  in  with  all  their 
gossip.  The  average  gossip  is  one  who  seems 
to  seek  obscurity  or  security,  or  both,  to  cover 
their  own  shortcomings  by  besmudging  other 
people.  Ink  fishes,  Dr.  Jerry  calls  them.  For 
this  reason  I  was  misjudged.  Some  made  it 
their  business  to  investigate  the  doctor 's  past 
history,  and  how  or  by  what  means  they  traced 
it,  I  never  knew.  Not  that  we  had  anything 
to  cover  up  or  that  we  were  ashamed  of,  still 
you  know  what  the  usual  thought  is  about 
divorce.  I  was  conscious  of  a  change  in  my 
neighbors  very  presently. 

One  day  I  overheard  my  next  door  neighbor 
say  to  the  woman  below : 

"No  wonder  she  has  nothing  to  say.  The 
doctor  is  a  divorced  man,  and  they  say  she 
caused  it.  She  had  just  better  keep  still." 

This  woman  was  divorced  herself  and  had 
all  manner  of  callers.  We  often  heard  their 
ribald  jokes,  their  parodies  on  the  popular 
songs,  through  the  partitions.  Because  I  want- 
ed to  live  true  and  kind,  avoiding  all  gossip 
and  tales-mongering,  I  was  branded.  I  wanted 
friends  that  were  true,  but  I  did  not  expect  to 
find  them  among  the  tenants  of  our  present 
quarters. 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.       75 

At  my  suggestion  Jerry  took  a  house  in  a 
resident  district  and  moved  his  offices  to  a 
more  central  location  in  the  business  section. 
This  brought  us  into  close  contact  with  many 
nice  families.  We  had  good  things  for  our 
home  by  this  time  and  Jerry  had  a  new  car. 
As  far  as  money  goes  or  what  it  will  buy,  we 
were  as  good  as  any  of  our  neighbors.  Some 
of  the  ladies  called.  They  were  very  nice  to 
me.  One  family,  good  Catholics,  were  especial- 
ly friendly  because  I  had  been  trained  in  a 
Catholic  hospital.  This  Mrs.  Brindlay  could 
not  do  enough  for  me.  She  would  run  in  with 
bits  of  something  particularly  good — she  took 
great  pride  in  her  cooking — and  I  would  go 
back  the  next  day  or  so  with  her  dish  and  sit 
in  a  few  minutes  with  fancy  work  or  merely 
to  chat.  Not  long  after  this  the  calls  suddently 
ceased,  and  one  day  I  saw  her  on  the  car,  but 
she  looked  the  other  way,  refusing  to  see  me. 
For  a  moment  I  was  hurt,  and  I  cried  a  little 
when  I  told  Jerry  about  it. 

"She  has  probably  heard  the  same  old 
story,"  he  said. 

I  am  too  proud  to  beg  favors  of  anybody, 
so,  when  I  met  this  woman  after  that  I  held  my 
head  just  as  high  as  she  did.  My  love  for 
the  dear  old  Mother  Superior  had  always  made 
me  favorable  to  Catholics,  though  I  had  not 
embraced  the  faith.  However,  I  found  people 
are  all  about  alike  no  matter  to  what  church 
they  may  claim  alliance. 

Next  to  our  house  was  the  beautiful  new 


76  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES.    , 

home  of  a  saloon  keeper.  His  wife  was  kind 
and  friendly.  She  was  an  excellent  house- 
keeper, and  we  had  many  nice  chats  across 
the  lawn  as  we  tended  our  flowers.  We  ex- 
changed many  informal  calls.  Other  neighbors 
saw  this  and  one  good-  woman,  one  I  valued 
very  much,  gave  me  the  advise  that  if  I  ex- 
pected people  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me, 
I  must  not  call  on  the  saloon  keeper 's  wife. 

Dear  me,  I  thought,  what  a  world  it  is! 
People  class  themselves  according  to  their  busi- 
ness, past  vicissitudes  and  what  not.  They 
make  up  their  lists  from  any  and  every  motive 
but  the  one  of  real  personal  friendship  and 
mutual  attraction.  However,  we  soon  left  the 
neighborhood  to  occupy  a  new  house  of  our  own 
and  I  was  saved  from  openly  hurting  the  feel- 
ings of  poor  Mrs.  Saloonist.  I  have  insisted  in 
keeping  my  friendship  with  her,  for  she  is  good 
and  true,  even  though  her  husband  does  sell 
liquor. 

Not  one  word  had  I  said  in  all  this  time 
about  personal  things.  I  demanded  that  peo- 
ple take  me  as  I  am  and  for  what  I  am,  or 
leave  me  alone.  I  have  always  been  a  good 
girl  and  a  good  woman.  If  it  was  a  sin  to 
love  Jerry  it  is  a  sin  I  am  proud  of.  We  have 
been  so  happy  together  it  has  been  well  worth 
all  it  cost. 

At  Jerry's  suggestion  we  began  attending 
the  Unitarian  church.  The  doctor  said  these 
people  are  among  the  most  intelligent  and  fair 
minded  in  the  world.  The  minister  called  upon 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.       77 

us  and  we  resolved  to  go  regularly  and  make 
for  ourselves  a  social  circle.  For  several  Sun- 
days we  attended  the  service.  Everybody  was 
friendly  and  seemed  happy  to  meet  us.  I  know 
we  looked  fit.  I  had  a  new  suit  and  my  hat 
was  as  up-to-date  as  any  I  saw  there.  We 
drove  up  in  our  new  car  making  as  good  a  turn- 
out as  anyone  could  wish.  We  had  nothing 
of  which  to  be  ashamed. 

I  was  invited  and  went  to  the  Ladies*  So- 
ciety— once.  I  only  went  once — the  climate 
was  too  cold.  It  was  at  a  fine  home.  We — the 
ladies  went  in  and  seated  ourselves.  The  maids 
brought  us  tea  and  wafers.  There  was  much 
chatting  and  small  talk.  Everybody  seemea 
to  know  everybody,  but  nobody  knew  me.  I 
sat  in  my  corner  alone,  sipped  my  tea  and  made 
my  getaway  as  soon  as  I  could  decently. 

"So  glad  to  have  met  you,"  my  hostess  said, 
as  I  pressed  her  hand  at  my  going.  "Sorry  you 
cannot  remain  longer.  Good  bye,  Mrs.  Doc- 
tor  ." 

I  felt  her  coldness  and  her  deceit.  Jerry 
says  the  same  old  snake  trailed  in  there  no 
doubt,  with  his  wicked  venom.  He  says  I  must 
not  mind.  I  am  too  sensitive.  In  time  people 
will  come  to  know  us  better  and  will  like  me 
for  myself.  Meantime  let  them  say  what  they 
say. 

It  is  all  very  well  for  a  man  to  talk,  but 
I  know  women.  I  have  nursed  them  and  stud- 
ied them  under  all  circumstances.  The  mean- 
est, most  contemptible  enemy  a  woman  has  is 


78  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

some  other  woman.  They  are  poor  narrow- 
minded,  shallow-souled  mortals,  most  of  them. 
Their  sex  history  for  many  ages  has  developed 
just  this  thing  as  a  sex  instinct  in  the  human 
female. 

The  only  real  friend  I  have  made  during  my 
married  life  is  an  old  maid  school  teacher,  who 
cares  no  more  about  men  than  she  knows  about 
the  scenery  on  the  moon.  Of  course  I  know 
Jerry  does  not  realize  the  price  he  has  made 
me-  pay  for  loving  him  and  marrying  him.  I 
don't  want  him  to  realize.  I  expect  it  will  be 
different  some  day,  especially  when  we  have 
children  of  our  own. 

I  am  happy  now  for  the  stork  is  coming  our 
way  by  and  by.  When  this  comes  I  won 't  care 
for  the  slights  I  get  that  I  don't  deserve.  Up 
to  now  I've  only  had  my  cat,  my  horse  and 
Jerry  to  love.  Now  somebody  else  is  coming. 

I  won't  say  I  have  anything  to  regret.  I 
have  just  the  best  and  kindest  husband  that 
ever  lived.  He  has  been  my  friend  and  teacher. 
He  has  made  up  for  all  that  barren  childhood. 
Now  when  the  baby  comes  my  happiness  will 
be  complete.  What  will  I  care  for  the  rest 
of  the  world? 

''Only  God  and  I, 
Know  what  is  in  my  heart, ' ' 
and  God  knows  I  have  never  done  a  wrong 
thing    intentionally    and    very    few    uninten- 
tionally. 

I  hope  though,  the  good  fates  may  save 
other  girls  from  what  I  have  experienced.  If 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  SECOND  WIFE.       79 

love  can  come  to  you  without  the  price  I  have 
paid  for  mine,  it  is  well.  I  hope  it  may,  but 
if  you  must  pay,  then  do  it,  for  there  is  com- 
pensation. I  only  hope  you  may  find  another 
like  Jerry.  But  I  doubt  it,  for  I  tell  him  there 
is  not  just  such  another  man  as  he  in  all  this 
world. 


Dr.  Xury's  Marvelous  Cure. 

"There  is  absolutely  nothing  wrong  with  the 
woman,"  Dr.  Xury  was  saying  to  the  group  of 
doctors  about  him,  having  what  they  called  a 
consultation  over  the  case  of  Mrs.  J.  DeWitt 
Smith.  It  may  have  been  a  consultation,  but 
it  appeared  more  like  a  smoker  at  the  Medical 
Club.  "The  Doctors'  Room"  at  the  hospital 
now  contained  the  chief  of  medical  staff,  Dr. 
Bumpus,  young  Snypers,  the  house  surgeon,  Dr. 
Milton  Moore,  chief  of  surgical  staff,  and  our 
old  friend  Dr.  Xury  T.  Lane. 

"She  can't  walk  because  she  won't  walk, 
or  I  might  say  because  she  hasn't  walked  for 
fifteen  years — not  that  anyone  has  seen.  Her 
wires  are  down  and  she  can't  get  central.  The 
muscles  of  her  legs  and  her  will  are  divorced." 
"Do  you  mean  to  say  the  cross  fibers  of 
the  cortex  are  functionally  disassociated,  so 
to  speak?"  interposed  Dr.  Bumpus. 

"No,  the  trouble  is  in  the  pons,  or  in  the 
coordination  function  of  the  cerebellum,"  Dr. 
Moore  observed  with  a  smile. 

"Now  here,  Moore,"  said  Dr.  Xury,  "let 
us  end  this  nonsense.  You  all  saw  that  her 
reflexes  are  normal,  all  of  them ;  she  has  all  her 
faculties  except  she  can't  walk.  There  is  some 
atrophy  of  her  leg  muscles,  but  not  as  much  as 
we  might  expect  after  all  these  years  of  disuse. 


82  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

As  I  said  before,  she  can't  walk  because  she 
won't;  bcause  she  thinks  she  can't.  We  must 
then  make  her  think  she  can  and  she  will. 
When  she  wills  to  walk  she  can.  She  will 
walk.  She  can  walk." 

"You  better  can  that!"  Snypers  said,  who 
never  passed  up  a  chance  to  try  to  be  funny. 

"Snipes-on-toast,  you're  in  the  wrong  call- 
ing. You  should  be  the  right  end-man  in  a 
a  minstrel  show,"  Xury  replied. 

"I  couldn't  be  that— I'm  left  handed,"  and 
with  that  telling  thrust  the  house  docter  leered 
at  Dr.  Xury,  rumbled  a  fresh  cigarette  be- 
tween his  palms  and  rushed  off  to  the  labora- 
tory. 

"Leave  her  to  me,  Bumpus.  I  will  use  drug- 
less  healing  on  her." 

"What?"  asked  Dr.  Moore,  eyeing  Dr.  Xury 
closely. 

' '  Psycho-therapy — mental    suggestion, ' '    Dr. 
Lane  replied. 

' '  She  has  had  all  of  these  things, ' '  Dr.  Bum- 
pus  explained. 

"I  know,  but  she  hasn't  had  my  kind  of 
Psycho-therapy.  It  is  something  new,  at  least 
to  her." 

"Tell  us,  tell  us,"  Dr.  Moore  commanded. 

"Provided  only  that  I  am  to  have  full 
charge  and  get  all  the  glory. ' ' 

"Agreed!"  they  cried. 

"Then  listen.  I  will  give  her  a  little  teaser 
of  the  will  called  Dr.  Pacquelin  Cautery ! ' ' 


DE.  XURY'S  MARVELOUS  CURE.     83 

''That's  rather  tough,  isn't  it,  Lane?" 
Moore  was  a  tender  hearted  fellow,  and  little 
deserved  his  reputation  as  the  "hospital 
butcher"  as  some  made  bold  to  call  him  on 
account  of  his  many  fearless  operations.  How- 
ever, no  one  questioned  his  skill  as  a  careful 
surgeon. 

"It  is  the  only  thing  I  can  think  of  to  make 
a  quick  connection  between  her  will  and  her 
legs.  When  it  is  over  the  memory  will  linger, 
too.  This  will  tend  to  save  relapse.  She  has 
been  talked  to  by  New  Thought  healers  and 
prayed  over  by  Christian  Scientist.  At  eleven 
fifty-five  each  day,  she  tells  me,  she  has  con- 
centrated her  mind — and  she  says  she  once  had 
a  powerful  mind — on  getting  well.  'I  will  bt> 
well,  I  will  be  well,  I  am  not  sick.  Disease  is 
thought  error.  Away  wrong  thoughts.'  This 
or  something  like  it  she  repeated  over  and  over, 
until  twelve  five.  Ten  minutes  of  intense  con- 
centration, she  tells  me.  Somehow  she  lacked 
the  necessary  faith  or  something  was  wrong, 
and  it  did  not  do  the  work.  However,  these 
absent  treatments  cost  her  four  dollars  each 
and  were  from  one  of  the  most  celebrated  heal- 
ers close  to  the  original  font  in  dear  old  Boston. 

"As  Bumpus  knows,  she  has  taken  drugs 
enough  to  stock  a  small  drugstore.  She  has 
been  Homeopathed,  Allopathed  and  Schuetsler- 
ized.  She  has  been  Galvanized,  Faradized  and 
Mesmerized.  She  has  been  ozoned,  vibrated 
and  X-rayed.  She  has  paid  for  several  static 
machines  in  fees.  The  violet-ray  has  been  turn- 


84  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

ed  on  her  back.  She  has  had  electric  light 
baths,  electric  medicated  baths  and  the  whole 
line  of  several  dozen  hydro-therapy  stunts. 
Masseurs  from  Sweden  have  rubbed,  swatted, 
pinched,  punched  and  pummeled  her.  Osteo- 
paths from  our  dear  Kirksville,  Mo.,  have  giv- 
en her  wise  counsel  and  many  manipulations. 
And  last  but  not  least  a  Chi-ro-prac-tic  brother 
only  recently  adjusted  and  replaced  seven  sub- 
luxed  bones  of  her  spinal  column.  How  this 
terrible  condition  could  have  been  missed  by  all 
her  other  doctors,  she  says,  is  something  she 
cannot  understand.  She  admits  it  hurt  her 
considerably  when  this  wonderful  new  doctor 
fixed  her  spine,  but  still  for  some  strange  rea- 
son it  has  done  no  good.  I  did  not  tell  her 
what  I  am  going  to  do  will  hurt  her  ten  times 
more,  but  she  will  find  that  out  later.  The  doc- 
tor tells  her  that  the  nerves  have  been  impinged 
upon — impinged,  wonderfully  effective  word 
that,  isn't  it? — so  long  that  a  degenerative  pro- 
cess has  set  in,  making  her  restoration  extreme- 
ly precarious  and  the  duration  necessarily  pro- 
tracted !  These  are  her  words,  not  mine.  Well, 
he  extracted  about  five  hundred  dollars  of 
their  money,  before  she  lost  faith  and  hope — 
charity  she  could  not  see  in  the  matter. 

"This  unhappy  result  now  brings  her  to 
us.  She  has  traveled  around  the  circle.  She 
has  employed  every  sort  of  cure,  pathy  and 
ism.  She  has  kept  her  husband  poor  paying 
the  bills.  He  says  he  has  spent  a  fortune  on 
her,  to  say  nothing  of  his  own  loss  of  time 


DR.  XURY'S  MARVELOUS  CUKE.     85 

and  worry  about  it.  It  is  fortunate  that  the  ma- 
jesty of  the  law  overlooks  the  fact  that  several 
sorts  of  doctors  constantly  obtain  money  under 
false  pretense,  and  are  seldom  if  ever  molested. 
The  same  methods  if  used  by  a  horsetrader  or 
a  merchant  would  land  either  in  the  pen.  Then 
we,  real  medical  profession,  must  pay  the  pen- 
alty of  public  confidence  sacrificed,  because  of 
all  this  sort  of  thing.  It  is  so  disgusting  I 
sometimes  wish  I, had  been  a  sailor  or  some- 
thing commendable." 

"Well  Xury,  if  you  have  got  that  all  out  of 
your  system,  I  think  I'll  go,"  said  Dr.  Moore, 
and  the  conference  ended. 


The  next  day  Dr.  Xury  had  his  preliminary 
interview  with  his  patient,  Mrs.  J.  DeWitt 
Smith.  Everybody  knew  her  husband  as  Jim 
Smith  the  wholesale  grocer,  but  Mrs.  Smith  has 
elitized  James  out  of  it. 

"Mrs.  Smith,"  the  doctor  began,  "I  am 
going  to  cure  you.  I  am  going  to  make  you 
walk." 

"Oh,  doctor,  I  wish  I  could  believe  you." 

"You  must  believe  me.  Inside  of  ten  days 
you  will  walk  out  to  your  carriage  and  go 
home." 

This  was  said  so  calmly  and  with  such  as- 
surance that  Mrs.  Smith  smiled  through  her 
tears. 

"Tell  me  doctor,  what  I  must  do." 

"Do  nothing  but  get  well  and  walk,  work 
and  act  like  other  folks." 


86  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"Oh,  if  I  only  could!" 
"You  really  want  to  be  well,  Mrs.  Smith?" 
"How  can  you  ask  me  such  a  question,  doc- 
tor?    I'd  rather  die  than  be  this  way  all  my 
life." 

"All  right,  then  I'll  tell  you  what  we  must 
do.  There  seems  to  be  some  obstruction  to  the 
motor  impulses  that  come  from  the  motor  areas 
in  the  brain,  so  that  your  will  or  wish  to  walk 
does  not  reach  the  muscles  of  your  legs.  We 
must  use  the  actual  cautery  over  your  back  at 
certain  places.  We  can  locate  this  area  fairly 
well,  but  should  the  first  application  fail,  we 
must  extend  the  treatment  downward  until  the 
right  part  has  been  reached." 

Mrs.  Smith  was  listening  intently. 
"Will  I  have  to  take  ether,  doctor?" 
"No,  we  will  not  use  an  anesthetic,  for  we 
wish  to  make  as  much  impression  on  the  cere- 
bral centers  as  we  can."  (There  is  no  lie  about 
that,  the  doctor  thought.) 

"Won't  it  hurt  me  dreadfully?" 
"Yes,  it  will  hurt  some  of  course,  but  only 
for  an  instant,  and  I  hope  very  much  we  shall 
not  have  to  repeat  the  process.  If  we  make 
the  right  impression  by  the  second  day  you  will 
be  able  to  take  a  few  steps.  On  the  third  day 
you  should  be  able  to  walk  across  the  room  and 
by  the  fourth  day,  out  into  the  hall.  One  week 
from  tomorrow  you  will  walk  out  to  your  car- 
riage and  thereafter,  as  your  muscles  gain 
strength,  you  will  walk  as  well  as  you  ever 
did  when  a  girl." 


DR.  XUBY'S  MARVELOUS  CUBE.      87 

' ' It's  too  good  to  be  true!  Oh,  doctor,  if 
you  cure  me  your  fortune  is  made." 

"No,  I  am  not  working  for  a  fortune.  M> 
only  thought  is  to  get  you  well." 

All  that  day  Mrs.  Smith  worried  about  the 
next  morning.  Many  times  she  asked  the  nurse 
if  she  thought  it  would  hurt  very  much,  ho\\ 
long  it  would  take,  what  had  been  her  exper- 
ience with  such  cases,  if  she  ever  saw  a  case 
just  like  hers  before,  and  a  dozen  other  ques- 
tions showing  her  great  concern.  She  slept 
little  during  the  night.  The  morning  brought 
her  a  variety  of  moods.  At  moments  she  lost 
all  faith  in  the  plan  and  wept  bitterly.  Pre- 
sently she  would  recover  herself  and  declare 
she  was  ready  and  willing  for  she  knew  Dr. 
Xury  T.  Lane  knew  his  business. 

When  the  appointed  hour  had  come,  the, 
nurse  wheeled  the  patient  into  the  operating 
room  and  bared  her  back. 

"If  I  were  not  sure  of  success  in  this  case 
I  would  feel  like  a  cruel  wretch  to  torture  this 
woman  as  I  am  about  to  do,"  said  Dr.  Xury 
quietly  to  the  house  doctor,  as  they  started  the 
Pacquelin  cautery  going  in  the  instrument  room 
off  the  surgery. 

"We  are  ready,  nurse,  whenever  you  are," 
called  the  doctor  through  the  doorway. 

Presently  they  came  in,  the  cautery  wheez- 
ing and  the  white  hot  platinum  tip  glowing. 

"Oh,  doctor,  I  can't  stand  it,  I  know  I 
can't,"  Mrs.  Smith  cried  out  the  moment  she 
saw  the  apparatus. 


S8  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"I  think  you  can  or  I  would  not  do  it," 
said  the  doctor  calmly. 

"I  shall  faint,  I  know  I  will." 

"Very  well,  madam,  it  is  for  you  to  say. 
Shall  we  give  it  up?" 

"Give  me  a  little  time,  doctor,  just  a  lit- 
tle time." 

While  they  waited  the  cautery  tip  cooled 
to  a  dull  red,  then  to  the  color  of  the  metal.  The 
doctors  waited  saying  not  a  word.  Mrs.  Smith 
sat  in  the  operating  chair,  holding  the  blanket 
to  cover  her  chest,  and  looking  at  the  doctor. 
Finally  she  said,  "Go  ahead  and  do  it.  I'll 
stand  it  if  it  kills  me." 

"Very  good.  It  will  not  kill  you,  it  will 
cure." 

Once  more  the  cautery  was  pumped  and  the 
tip  turned  white.  Dr.  Xury  advanced  and 
touched  the  tip  to  the  white  skin  of  Mrs.  J. 
DeWitt  Smith's  back  near  the  spine.  She 
screamed  and  flitched,  as  well  she  might,  for 
the  skin  sizzled  and  smoked.  One  more  touch 
opposite,  after  a  moment  of  waiting  followed 
by  more  screams.  In  all  ten  of  these  burned 
spots  were  made,  causing  several  times  as  many 
screams.  Distant  orderlies  and  nurses  to  say 
nothing  of  disturbed  patients,  wondered  what 
was  going  on  in  the  operating  wing. 

"There,  it's  done,"  said  the  doctor.  "Dress 
it  nurse,  I  am  sure  the  wounds  are  aseptic." 
Turning  to  leave,  he  said,  "I  will  see  you  to- 
ward evening,  Mrs.  Smith."  The  poor  soul 


DE.  XURY'S  MAEVELOUS  CUEE.      89 

was  sobbing  too  much  to  pay  any  attention.  In 
telling  of  it  afterwards  Dr.  Xury  said  he  felt 
guilty  of  almost  barbaric  cruelty,  yet  he  knew 
he  was  justified. 

Toward  night  he  found  his  patient  nearly 
recovered  from  her  shock,  cheerfully  waiting 
to  see  him. 

"Oh,  but  you  punished  me  dreadfully,  doc- 
tor, ' '  was  her  greeting. 

"We  have  to  be  cruel  sometimes  to  be 
kind,"  he  replied. 

"I  hope,"  he  continued,  "this  will  end  it. 
If  by  tomorrow  afternoon  you  have  not  walked 
at  least  three  steps,  from  your  bed  to  that 
chair,  then  the  next  morning  we  must  continue 
the  burning  lower  down  the  spine.  You  will 
try  and  see  how  the  result  has  been  by  tomor- 
row." 

"Yes,  doctor,  I  will  try.  I  think  I  begin 
to  feel  more  power  in  my  limbs  already." 

The  doctor  smiled  and  thought,  "the  sug- 
gestive power  of  Pacquelin  is  surely  great." 

Mrs.  Smith  slept  well  that  night,  ate  a  good 
breakfast  and  when  the  usual  morning  pro- 
gram was  over,  she  called  her  nurse. 

"I  want  you  to  fix  me  to  try  a  few  steps. 
I  can  move  my  legs  better  in  bed  I  know.  I 
believe  if  you  will  let  me  sit  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed,  and  you  stand  by  the  chair  over  there  to 
be  ready  in  case  I  fall,  I  can  do  it.  I  would 
not  have  Dr.  Lane  fail  in  my  case  for  the  world, 
he  is  such  an  earnest  good  fellow,  don't  you 
think  so  nurse?" 


90  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"Dr.  Lane  is  surely  devoted  to  his  work.  No 
doctor  could  be  more  sincere  and  we  think 
none  more  competent,"  the  nurse  replied. 

Presently  things  were  arranged  and  Mrs. 
Smith  sat  swinging  her  legs  from  the  side  of 
the  high  surgical  bed. 

"See  nurse,  I  can  use  them/'  she  cried  like 
a  pleased  child. 

The  nurse  came  and  helped  her  down  to  the 
floor.  '  '  Now  walk  to  the  chair  and  I  will  steady 


you." 


This  was  done,  Mrs.  Smith  trembling  and 
somewhat  wabbly  on  her  legs,  reached  the 
chair  safely  and  without  falling. 

"Oh,  to  think  I  have  walked  four  steps  and 
not  one  step  have  I  taken  before  in  fifteen 
years!  What  will  my  poor  husband  say?"  and 
at  the  thought  of  this  she  burst  into  tears. 

After  a  little  time  the  nurse  called  Dr.  Xury 
over  the  telephone. 

"She  has  done  it.  She  walked  to  her  chair, 
four  or  five  steps.  I  supported  her  just  a  little 
but  not  much." 

"Let  her  try  to  walk  back  to  the  bed  alone," 
the  doctor  said  and  gave  further  orders  about 
the  massage  of  the  wasted  muscles. 

Next  morning  Dr.  Xury  burst  into  the  con- 
sultation room,  saying,  "Eureka!  I  have  found 
a  new  drugless  healing  system  that  beats  them 
all.  My  patient  Mrs.  Jim  Smith  or  Mrs.  J. 
DeWitt  Smith,  just  as  you  prefer,  has  walked 
already  a  total  of  eight  steps.  She  is  very  tired 
she  says,  from  this  long  journey,  but  tomorrow 


DR.  XURY'S  MARVELOUS  CURE.      91 

she  promises  to  pace  around  the  room.  In  a 
week  she  will  be  able  to  enter  the  Marathon 
race." 

"Well,  it's  really  remarkable,"  said  Dr. 
Moore. 

"No,  there  is  nothing  remarkable  about  it, 
except  the  fact  that  the  human  will  may  be 
reached  by  many  means.  Listen,  I  want  to  get 
this  off  my  mind." 

They  gathered  about  Dr.  Xury  knowing  the 
signs  that  meant  he  was  about  to  deliver  an  in- 
teresting observation. 

"The  power  of  mind  over  the  bodily  func- 
tions is  not  a  new  discovery.  All  we  have  is 
a  few  new  methods  of  accomplishing  the  same 
old  result.  During  the  Crusades,  weak  and 
famished  soldiers  of  the  Cross  fought  like  de- 
mons and  won  miraculous  victories  because 
they  believed  they  followed  the  holy  spear,  the 
very  one  that  had  pierced  the  side  of  Jesus. 
The  spear  was  a  fake,  but  it  did  the  business. 
Joan  of  Arc  led  the  French  armies,  clad  in  a 
soldier's  trappings  and  the  men  believed,  as 
she  believed,  that  she  was  guided  by  supernat- 
ural voices.  This  little  maid  was  troubled  with 
nothing  more  than  hallucinations,  but  she  did 
wonders.  A  man  in  hard  luck  consults  one  of 
these  fortune  tellers,  clairvoyants  or  what  not, 
and  is  told  that  great  success  awaits  him  just 
around  the  corner.  He  goes  out  believing,  gets 
in  line  wUh  natural  causes  and  wins.  Same 
thing  again.  A  poor  drunk  listens  to  the  songs 
and  the  exhortations  of  the  Salvation  Army. 


92  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

He  sees  a  ray  of  hope.  He  somehow  comes  to 
believe  he  may  yet  be  a  man,  and  he  braces  up 
and  tries  the  better  way.  Presently  through 
the  help  of  those  about  him,  he  gets  a  job. 
Then  he  fights  his  way  to  freedom  from  the 
drink  habit,  using  a  will  power  that  is  much 
improved  by  his  faith  and  religious  emotions. 
He  then  gets  up  in  the  meetings  and  tells  others 
what  Jesus  has  done  for  him." 

"How  about  Christian  Science?"  asked  Dr. 
Rumpus. 

"The  same,"  said  Dr.  Xury.  "If  the  will  is 
stimulated  by  the  needed  faith  in  the  prayers 
and  the  program  of  mental  gymnastics  prescrib- 
ed, and  if  no  organic  trouble  stands  in  the  way, 
wonders  can  be  done  for  functional  disorders. 
It  matters  not  how  this  effect  on  the  will  is  se- 
cured. The  various  drugless  healing  cults  re- 
present just  so  many  roads  that  lead  to  Rome, 
that  is,  the  stimulation  of  the  will. ' ' 

"How  about  reported  cures  of  organic  les- 
ions such  as  broken  bones,  etc.?"  Dr.  Moore 
asked. 

"They  cannot  demonstrate  a  single  case  of 
the  kind,  by  any  experimental  evidence  that  a 
jury  of  rational  minded  men  would  accept. 
This  is  an  interesting  field.  There  is  just  mys- 
tery enough  about  such  cases  to  allow  supersti- 
tion to  take  hold  firmly.  A  man  who  has  not 
walked  for  years,  falls  in  the  hammock  and  re- 
ceives a  good  bump  on  the  floor.  Then  he  gets 
up  and  walks  as  good  as  anybody,  except  for 
his  muscular  weakness.  A  boy  has  not  spoken 


DR.  XUKY'S  MARVELOUS  CURE.      93 

a  word  for  months  or  years,  and  suddenly  cries 
out  because  the  house  is  on  fire,  and  thereaf- 
ter talks  as  other  people.  Sightless  eyes  have 
suddenly  come  to  see,  ears  that  heard  not  now 
hear  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  these  functional 
disorders.  Do  you  think  a  degenerated  optic 
nerve  or  an  ankylosed  bony  chain  of  the  ear 
ever  recovered  function?  Did  a  case  of  loco- 
motor  ataxia  or  real  paresis  ever  get  a  cure? 
Nay,  not  one. 

"  Coming  now  to  our  case,  Mrs.  Smith,  let 
us  admit  that  at  one  time  she  may  have  had 
a  congestion  or  something  along  the  motor 
tract  somewhere  which  did  produce  a  tempo- 
rary paralysis.  She  could  not  use  her  legs 
then,  but  since  that  passed  she  has  only  thought 
she  could  not.  Her  general  weakness  and  the 
muscular  atrophy  have  aided  her  in  that  belief. 
Now  her  faith  in  me  and  her  fear  of  further 
treatment  from  Dr.  Pacquelin  have  caused  her 
to  use  her  will  and  make  an  effort.  As  far  as 
her  strength  will  allow  this  has  been  a  success. 
It  is  now  only  a  matter  of  giving  the  muscles 
exercise  and  food,  and  we  shall  record  another 
wonderful  cure  by  drugless  methods.  All  hail 
to  psycho-therapy ! " 

"Hurrah  for  Dr.  Xury,"  they  shouted  and 
went  to  their  various  tasks. 


It  was  a  happy  group  that  met  in  Mrs. 
Smith's  room  the  evening  of  her  " first  four 
steps  in  fifteen  years." 


94  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"To  think,  husband,"  said  the  patient, 
"that  I  am  going  to  walk  like  other  women." 

"Let  us  hope  it  will  be  permanent,"  Mr. 
Smith  observed.  He  had  been  in  the  curing 
game  so  long  and  had  seen  so  many  repeated 
failures,  no  one  could  blame  him  for  a  pessi- 
mistic attitude. 

"Oh,  Dr.  Xury  says  there  will  be  no  re- 
lapse, and  if  there  is  it  is  only  a  matter  of 
burning  my  spine  some  more.  I  don't  think 
it  will  be  necessary,  my  dear,  ever  to  do  that 
again. ' ' 

"Let  us  hope  not,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 
It  is  quite  likely  he  began  to  understand  Dr. 
Xury's  treatment  idea,  but  was  far  too  wise  to 
belittle  it  in  any  way.  It  was  results  that  in- 
terested him. 

Day  by  day  Mrs.  Smith 's  efforts  to  walk  con- 
tinued with  better  success.  By  the  end  of  the 
week  she  could  make  the  whole  length  of  the 
hospital  corridor.  A  bit  out  of  breath  when 
she  reached  her  own  door  again  but  smiling 
and  happy.  "My,  wasn't  that  a  splendid  long 
trip?"  she  said. 

On  the  eighth  day  she  was  dressed  for  the 
street  and  walked  out  to  the  cab  holding  gently 
to  her  husband's  arm. 

"Dr.  Lane,  you  will  never  see  me  here 
again." 

"I  hope  not,  madam,  for  your  sake,  not 
ours. ' ' 

"You  have  treated  me  dreadfully  and  won- 
derfully. I  can  never  thank  you  enough  01 


DR.  XUEY  >S  MARVELOUS  CURE.  95 


pay  you  enough.     I  shall  cry  out  your  name 
from  the  house  tops." 

"Don't  do  that,"  he  said,  "it  would  be  ad- 
vertising, and  doctors  are  not  allowed  to  ad- 
vertise." 

"I  shall  advertise  you  just  the  same,"  and 
with  smiles  and  good  byes,  they  drove  away. 

The  next  day  the  newspapers  carried  a 
story  headed: 

Mrs.  J.  DeWitt  Smith  cured.  A  help- 
less invalid  for  fifteen  years.  Has  not  tak- 
en a  step  in  all  that  time,  now  well  and 
walking.  Restored  by  a  remarkable  oper- 
ation done  by  Dr.  Xury  T.  Lane. 

So  the  story  went  on  for  a  column  or  more, 
giving  details  with  the  usual  glowing  inaccu- 
racy of  the  usual  reporter's  story  of  any  medi- 
cal matter. 

"Who  wrote  the  advertisement?"  asked 
Dr.  Moore  of  Xury  as  they  met  next  day. 

"Not  guilty!"  said  Dr.  Xury. 
"Well,  it  will  do  you  some  good  anyway," 
the  surgeon  said.     Like  all  doctors  he  under- 
stood the  value  of  publicity. 

"I  hope  it  will,  though  I  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  it.  I  fear  it  will  be  the  only 
fee  I  shall  ever  get  from  the  case." 

"How's  that?" 

"Well  you  see,  Jim  Smith  tells  me  he  has 
spent  about  every  dollar  he  had  or  could  get 
hold  of,  on  his  wife's  treatments.  You  see  the 
other  fellows  beat  me  to  it." 


96  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

1  'There  it  is  again,  the  same  old  story.  Oh, 
Honesty,  where  is  thy  reward  ? "  Dr.  Moore  ob- 
served. 

"Oh,  I  may  get  a  fee  some  time.  Jim  Smith 
is  a  square  chap  and  says  he  will  pay  me.  I've 
had  my  real  pay  though." 

"How?"  asked  Moore. 

"My  pay  was  the  pleasure  I  felt  to  see  that 
poor  deluded  woman  get  her  mental  and  physi- 
cal legs  under  again.  My  pay  was  to  see  the 
joy  in  poor  old  Jim  Smith's  face  when  he  saw 
his  wife  walking.  My  pay  will  be  the  smile  of 
gratitude  they  will  give  me,  the  glad  hand  of 
welcome  when  we  meet,  the  consciousness  of 
doing  a  human  service — that's  my  pay." 

"Yes,  but  it  won't  help  on  the  rent  or  the 
grocer's  bill." 

' '  I  know,  I  know,  we  must  attend  to  that  dear 
dollar  also,"  laughed  Xury.    By  this  time  the 
usual  group  was  again  in  the  Doctor's  room. 
Said  Doctor  Moore: 

"Your  cure  of  Mrs.  Smith,  Xury,  makes  me 
think  of  a  story  old  Doctor  Betterman  used  to 
tell,  about  Sim  Perkins,  who  lived  down  there 
in  Perryville  near  him.  Dr.  Betterman  had 
been  called  so  often  and  at  every  hour  of  day 
or  night,  with  no  prospect  of  pay,  that  finally 
the  doctor  became  disgusted,  especially  when 
on  all  occasions  there  was  little  if  anything  the 
matter  with  Sim.  People  generally  said  he  was 
too  lazy  to  breathe  and  pretended  sickness  so 
the  neighbors  would  bring  in  things  to  eat  and 
encourage  their  hard  lot  by  giving  Mrs.  Perkins 


DR.  XURY'S  MARVELOUS  CURE.      97 

washings  to  do.  No  matter  how  sick  Sim  seemed 
to  be  his  appetite  was  always  good. 

"Mrs.  Perkins  it  seems  was  a  worthy  hard- 
working woman,  and  but  for  her  the  family 
surely  would  have  been  on  the  town.  I  am  not 
sure  whether  Sim  was  a  simple  feigner  or  an 
hysteric.  At  any  rate  the  old  doctor  decided 
he  had  been  made  a  dupe  long  enough.  On  one 
occasion  he  fixed  up  such  an  outrageous  mixture 
of  quassa,  gentian  and  assafoetida  that  he 
thought  would  be  so  rotten  to  take  that  it 
would  be  a  long  time  before  Sim  would  want 
to  see  him  again.  Within  a  week  Dr.  Better- 
man  had  another  call. 

"  'Say,  doc,'  said  Sim,  'that  was  gol  derned 
powerful  medicine  ye  sent  me,  but  I  think  it's 
chirkin'  me  up  some.  Can  ye  fix  me  up  an- 
other bottle  like  it?' 

"Dr.  Betterman  said  he  knew  then  nothing 
short  of  prussic  acid  would  rid  him  of  such  a 
patient.  However,  on  the  occasion  in  question 
he  resolved  to  try  a  new  experiment.  Tak- 
ing Mrs.  Perkins  aside  he  put  her  next  and 
then  went  in  to  Sim,  who  was  moaning  and 
writhing  on  his  bed.  Sim  did  not  know  they 
had  sneaked  up  to  the  window,  which  was 
open,  and  saw  him  resting  comfortably.  When 
he  heard  the  doctor  approach  the  bed,  then  the 
pain  began. 

"Betterman  used  to  say  it  was  a  bad  thing 
to  feel  as  he  did  toward  Sim  for  some  day  he 
might  be  sick  in  truth  and  no  one  would  be- 


98  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

lieve  him.  In  any  case  he  knew  at  this  time 
it  was  the  same  old  bluff. 

"  'Well,  Sim,  what's  the  matter  now?'  he 
asked. 

"  'Oh,  doc,  the  misery  is  all  over  me,  in  my 
head,  in  my  back  and  legs.  My  heart  stops 
beatin'  every  little  while  an'  I  can't  get  my 
breath. ' 

"  After  examining  him  with  some  care,  dur- 
ing which  Sim  had  seemingly  lapsed  into  a 
state  of  coma  vigil,  the  doctor  turned  to  Mrs. 
Perkins  and  said,  'Madam,  I  am  afraid  your 
husband  is  done  for  this  time,  I  guess  he  has 
already  gone.' 

"  'Well,  I  hope  to  the  Lord  he  has,'  she  re- 
plied, according  to  their  secret  arrangement. 

"  'Yes/  said  the  doctor,  rubbing  his  hand 
across  Sim's  brow,  'Yes,  he's  getting  cold  al- 
ready. Poor  old  Sim,  he  has  gone  to  rest.  No- 
body ever  said  he  was  much  of  a  worker,  but 
he  had  his  good  points.  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Per- 
kins, I'll  stop  at  the  undertaker's  and  tell 
him  he  better  come  right  over  and  get  the 
body  ready  for  burial.' 

"The  doctor  had  scarcely  reached  the  door 
when  Sim  kicked  off  the  bed  clothes,  yelled 
like  an  Indian  on  the  warpath  and  came  run- 
ning into  the  kitchen. 

"  'Come  back,  you  old  skinflint.  Here  you 
she  devil,  I  ain't  dead  yit.  Ye  needn't  send 
fer  no  undertaker,'  and  there  followed  a  blue 
streak  of  swearing  not  suitable  for  print,  but 
seemingly  helpful  to  Sim. 


DR.  XUBY  '8  MARVELOUS  CURE.  99 

"  'Well,  Sim,  we  knew  you  were  not  sick, 
so  we  tried  a  little  experiment  on  you  and  it 
has  worked  splendidly.  It  is  what  we  call 
psycho-therapy  or  mental  healing.' 

"'Psycho-hell!  I'll  send  and  git  a  doctor 
that  knows  suthin'.  You  don't  know  nothin'.' 

"All  right,  good-bye,  Mr.  Perkins,  the  doc- 
tor replied  and  went  away  laughing. 

"People  round  about  heard  the  story  and 
Sim  never  saw  the  last  of  it.  If  they  wished 
to  nag  him  they  would  say,  'Well,  Sim,  what 
do  you  think  of  mental  healing?' 

"The  good  part  of  old  Doctor  Betterman's 
story  is  that  Sim  was  so  ashamed  of  being  the 
butt  of  the  joke,  he  braced  up  and  worked 
better  than  he  ever  had  before,  and  was  never 
sick  a  day  thereafter." 


Mrs.  King's  Boarding  House. 


"I  never  would  V  took  her,  Ezra,  only  she's 
Jim  Little's  sister.  I  did  it — I  broke  the  rule 
to  please  Jim.  'Tain't  likely  she'll  stay  long, 
Ezra." 

We,  the  boarders  at  Mrs.  King's  Boarding 
House,  knew  how  frequently  the  good  old 
woman  refused  to  accept  women  boarders. 
"I've  got  nothin'  agin  'em,"  she  used  to  ex- 
plain to  us  as  we  sat  about  her  long  table, 
"but  I'm  keepin'  a  home  for  stray  men,  till 
they  gets  homes  of  their  own.  I  don't  say 
'cause  a  woman,  old  or  young,  ain't  got  no 
home  to  go  to,  'cept  a  boarding  house,  it's 
anything  agin  her.  I've  got  my  hands  full 
tendin'  to  my  boys.  The  Lord  will  have  to 
provide  some  other  place  for  lone  women 
folks." 

Mrs.  King's  "boys"  were  just  as  well 
pleased  that  she  took  this  attitude.  We  boys, 
at  least  those  under  her  roof  any  time  at  all, 
learned  to  love  the  old  lady.  She  mothered 
us  all  without  fear  or  favor.  She  laid  out  our 
weekly  laundry,  inspected  and  mended  the 
holes  in  our  socks,  carried  our  ties  to  the 
kitchen  to  be  ironed  out,  and  in  sickness  nursed 
us  back  to  health.  Some  of  ns  were  young  and 
looked  the  future  in  the  face  hopefully.  A  few 
were  on  the  seamy  side  of  life — bald  old  boys, 


102  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

who  had  no  other  ambition  or  expectation  than 
to  finish  out  the  game  of  existence  in  Mrs. 
King's  or  a  similar  hostelry.  Conspicuous 
among  those  we  called  the  old  boys,  though  he 
was  still  under  forty,  was  Simon  Newbury — 
Sim  as  we  called  him — a  bank  teller  long  ago 
ruined  by  the  salary  habit,  he  said.  We  called 
Sim  old  not  so  much  because  of  his  years  as 
his  bald  pate  and  quiet  ways.  He  never  joined 
us  in  any  of  our  nightlarks.  He  was  as  regular 
and  punctual  as  the  time  lock  on  the  safe  at 
the  bank. 

Mrs.  King  was  kind  to  Sim,  though  she  fav- 
ored the  "dinner  pail"  set — young  mechanics. 

"I'd  rather  board  a  man,"  she  often  said, 
"with  a  good  appetite — one  that  enjoys  his 
vittels  an'  don't  go  pickin'  and  leavin'  things. 
These  men  with  finnicky  stomachs  are  as  tire- 
some as  invalid  women." 

Still  when  "old  Sim"  took  sick  she  would 
not  hear  of  his  going  to  a  hospital.  We  sus- 
pected she  knew  more  of  Simon  Newbury 's 
history  than  we  did.  While  she  was  a  woman 
that  talked  much  she  was  exceedingly  wise 
with  what  she  did  not  say. 

(We  must  crave  pardon  of  those  experts  in 
the  art  of  short  story  writing  for  bringing 
Sim  into  the  opening  scene  of  our  play,  for 
this  is  not  Sim's  story.) 

Ezra  King  looked  at  his  wife  over  his  spec- 
tacles. A  smile  flitted  about  his  clean  shaven 
lip  as  he  held  the  evening  paper  aside  to  listen 
to  his  wife's  explanation. 


MRS.  KING'S  BOARDING  HOUSE.  103 

Mr.  King, — "Papa"  King  we  called  him, 
was  a  sprightly  old  fellow  of  eighty.  If  any- 
one asked  his  age  he  would  say,  "Waal,  I 
ain't  so  young  as  I  used  to  be,  nor  as  old  as  I 
look,  but  if  the  Lord  spares  me  till  the  twenty- 
first  of  the  coming  June,  I'll  be  eighty-one." 
For  many  years  Mr.  Bang  had  been  a  deacon 
in  the  First  M.  E.  Church  and  passed  the  con- 
tribution box  with  precision  and  care.  He 
always  paused  at  his  own  pew,  holding  the 
long  handle  out  toward  his  wife,  smiled, 
stroked  his  snow  white  beard,  received  a  smile 
in  return  as  she  dropped  in  her  mite,  and 
trudged  along  down  the  aisle. 

Ezra  Bang  had  been  a  carriage  and  wagon 
maker.  His  shop  was  not  large  enough  to  be 
absorbed  by  the  trust  and  too  small  to  kill 
outright.  For  at  least  twenty  years  he  and  his 
few  workmen  kept  the  place  going  on  repair 
work  and  such  odd  jobs  as  came  his  way.  He 
said  he  had  to  work  to  keep  from  dying. 

There  had  been  more  prosperous  days,  and 
the  King  family  then  enjoyed  some  social 
prominence.  This  was  in  the  pre-trust  period, 
soon  after  the  Civil  War.  The  sons — we  knew 
about  the  children  for  Mrs.  King  would  start 
on  them  with  the  slightest  provocation — 
were  both  married  and  prosperous  men  in 
Chicago,  with  families  of  their  own.  There 
were  two  daughters,  one  the  wife  of  a  diplo- 
mat in  the  government  service  in  Europe,  and 
the  other  the  wife  of  a  New  York  banker. 


104  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"The  children  don't  think  much  of  my  keep- 
ing boarders,"  Mrs.  King  explained,  "but, 
land  sakes,  I  ain  't  goin '  to  live  in  this  big  house 
alone.  Ezra  and  I  want  young  folks  about  us. 
We'd  die  if  we  had  to  go  traipsin'  around  the 
world  the  way  they  do.  We're  doin'  our  part 
of  the  Lord's  work  jest  this  way.  I'd  rather 
do  it,  if  I  didn't  make  a  cent  on  'em." 

However  that  might  be,  we  knew  very  well 
that  once  a  week  we  had  to  "come  across" 
with  our  board  money,  and  we  knew  a  little 
red  book  down  in  the  old  book-case  desk  where 
our  accounts  were  kept  correct  to  the  cent. 

"Keepin'  boarders  is  like  any  other  busi- 
ness," she  would  say,  "an'  so  long  as  any  boy 
of  mine  is  well  and  workin '  he 's  got  to  pay  his 
bills.  I  ain't  sayin'  what  I'd  do  if  any  one 
of  'em  got  sick." 

We  knew  how  the  good  old  soul  had  kept 
Jim  Little  that  time  he  broke  his  leg,  and  how 
she  stood  the  doctor  off  for  twelve  weeks  that 
Jim  was  trying  to  get  his  bones  spliced  to- 
gether again.  She  declared  nobody  took  any 
risk  on  a  boy  with  such  eyes  as  Jim  Little 
had.  Jim  proved  it  too,  for  when  the  leg  got 
well,  in  due  time  all  the  bills  were  paid. 

(It  does  seem  odd  how  these  minor  parts 
slip  into  this  play.  This  isn't  Jim's  story  any 
more  than  it  is  old  Sims'.) 

"Waal,  Ma,  you  always  did  favor  Jim  Little. 
'Tain't  for  me  to  say  he  ain't  deservin'  an' 
you  know  best,  Ma,  you  know  best. ' '  Then  the 


MRS.  KING'S  BOARDING  HOUSE.  105 

old  man  lifted  his  paper  to  continue  his  read- 
ing. 

" She's  coming  to-night  and  Jim's  gone  to 
meet  her  now.  So  I  better  get  that  front  room 
tidied  up  a  bit  for  her.  No  tellin'  what  fussin' 
she'll  make,"  and  the  old  lady  pattered  off  up 
stairs. 

(If  our  play  had  a  good  orchestra  we  would 
ask  now  for  a  bit  of  low  weird  music,  and  the 
switch  tender  would  put  out  all  the  lights  ex- 
cept the  "spot"  for  Lottie  Little  would  be  the 
whole  show,  except  for  Ezra  and  Ma  King.  It 
is  their  show,  you  can  see  that,  but  Lottie  is 
the  one  who  gets  the  bulky  envelope  at  the 
box  office  every  Tuesday  night.) 

It  floated  about  the  house,  the  news  did — if 
that  is  the  proper  way  to  speak  of  news — that 
Jim's  sister  was  coming,  and  we  heard  it  a§ 
we  came  in  one  by  one  from  our  work  at  the 
supper  hour.  Those  of  us  who  worked  with 
hands  always  "got  ready"  for  supper.  Mrs. 
King's  was  not  a  table  d'hote,  nor  was  it  a 
catch-as-catch-can  affair.  We  sat  down  with 
more  or  less  military  precision.  Supper  was 
our  one  meal  of  state  and  "Papa"  King  al- 
ways said  grace.  We  knew  all  the  old  man's 
blessings.  He  had  three  for  everyday  use  and 
a  few  special  ones  for  such  unusual  days  as 
Christmas,  Thanksgiving  and  the  like.  Some 
of  the  boys  had  them  numbered,  number  one, 
number  two,  and  number  three.  They  would 
bet  such  reckless  stakes  as  a  cigar  or  a  nickel 
which  one  it  would  be.  It  seemed  a  little  sac- 


106  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

rilegious  to  me,  still  we  could  not  help  smiling 
at  this  sporting  interest.  Number  one  started, 
"Lord,  we  thank  thee  for  this  food.  Bless  us 
as  we  partake  of  it.  Watch  over  us  as  we 
spend  the  strength  in  Thy  service,  that  all  may 
redound  to  Thy  glory,  Amen."  Number  two 
was  more  crisp  and  crackly,  like  a  new  bank 
note,  but,  no, — let  us  desist.  There  is  the  cue, 
and  here  comes  Lottie. 

"My,  my!  Mrs.  King,  what  a  nice  family  of 
boys  you  have  got." 

This  was  after  Jim  had  pronounced  our 
names  all  around  the  table,  and  each  one  of 
the  "boys,"  even  old  Sim,  had  made  a  neat 
little  bow  to  the — intruder.  (There  might  be 
a  better  word  than  that,  but  just  now  it  has 
slipped  me.) 

"Jim,"  said  Mrs.  King,  "did  I  hear  you 
call  your  sister  Mrs.  Arnold?" 

"There,  Jim,  I  told  you,  you  would  get  these 
folks  mixed  up,"  interrupted  Lottie.  "I  am  a 
widow,  Mrs.  King.  My  maiden  name  was  Lot- 
tie Little." 

"Are  you  grass  or  sod,  Mrs.  Arnold?"  old 
Sim  asked.  How  shocked  we  were!  No  one 
even  suspected  that  old  bald  head  of  humor. 

"What  a  precocious  boy  your  youngest  is, 
Mrs.  King,"  said  the  girl,  trying  to  make  the 
best  of  it.  Her  face  reddened  for  a  moment. 
"No,  sir,  I  am  only  a  plain  grass  widow.  Jim 
should  not  have  used  that  name  for  the  court 
has  said  I  am  now  just  Lottie  Little  again, 
with  no  handles  or  attachments." 


MRS.  KING'S  BOARDING  HOUSE.  107 

We  boys  were  a  little  embarrassed  by  the 
turn  of  affairs,  but  Mrs.  King  came  to  our  res- 
cue. 

"You  will  have  to  excuse  the  boys/'  the 
old  lady  said,  "they  are  not  used  to  havin' 
ladies  in  the  family/' 

At  this  the  table  talk  went  along  to  things 
less  personal  and  the  meal  came  to  an  end 
about  as  usual. 

(We  have  come  now  to  that  part  of  the 
play  that  earns  the  money.  It  is  best  to  fol- 
low closely  here.) 

The  next  day  Mrs.  King  and  Lottie  had  a 
heart  to  heart  visit.  She  had  come  to  the  girl, 
I  say  girl  for  she  was  only  twenty-two,  yet 
some  girls  at  that  figure  are  mighty  old,  for 
her  "getting  acquainted  talk."  The  dear  old 
soul  always  had  these  talks  with  every  one  of 
her  boys,  as  she  called  us.  It  was  not  idle 
curiosity  that  prompted  her  to  draw  us  out. 
We  told  her  of  our  past  and  present.  We  laid 
away  in  her  care  our  plans  and  hopes  for  the 
future.  It  made  us  feel  better,  this  mothering 
of  us.  I  am  sure  some  of  us  were  better  men 
because  she  believed  in  us. 

They  were  seated  in  Lottie's  room.  The 
maids  were  doing  the  after-dinner  work  in  the 
kitchen.  You  could  hear  the  clatter  of  the 
dishes  and  the  sound  of  voices  as  they  talked 
at  their  work.  The  old  lady  went  over  to  the 
door  and  closed  it. 

"Now  we'll  have  just  a  nice  visit  by  our- 
selves. Boys  are  all  right,  but  there's  nothing 


108  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

like  two  girls  openin'  their  hearts  to  one  an- 
other. You  needn't  smile — I'm  a  girl  yet — I'm 
just  as  young  as  you  are  in  here  and  here," 
she  said  putting  her  hand  on  her  head  and  over 

her  heart. 

"You  promised  to  tell  me  all  about  your 
gettin'  married.  You  don't  mind  to  tell  me  all 
about  it  do  you?" 

The  girl  sat  in  the  low  rocker,  her  hands 
folded  and  her  eyes  cast  down. 

" There  isn't  much  to  tell  and  nothing  I  am 
ashamed  of — at  least  I  thought  I  was  doing 
what  was  best.  You  see,  I  married  Frank 
Arnold  when  I  was  eighteen.  I  had  just  grad- 
duated  from  high  school  and  father  said  I 
should  go  to  a  business  college  and  fit  myself 
to  earn  something.  Instead  I  ran  away  and 
married  Frank.  He  was  twenty-five  then,  and 
I  thought  he  was  one  of  the  nicest  boys  in  our 
town.  When  we  got  back  from  the  wedding 
trip  I  telephoned  to  mother.  'I'm  married, 
Mama,'  I  said,  'may  I  come  home  and  see 
you?'  She  was  just  the  same  to  me  as  ever,  but 
Papa  said  he  would  have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  me.  I  had  made  my  own  bed  and  now  I 
could  lie  in  it.  He  knew  Frank  Arnold  better 
than  I  did,  and  I  would  see  the  day  when  I 
would  wish  I  had  listened  to  his  advice.  I 
have  seen  that  day,  Mrs.  King,  but  I  thought 
my  father  cruel  then,"  and  the  girl  wiped  a 
few  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  yes,  child,  you  were  just  too  young 


MRS.  KING'S  BOARDING  HOUSE.  109 

to  know  what  you  were  doing.     What  came 
next?" 

"Well,  we  soon  went  to  housekeeping.  It 
was  great  fun  at  first,  and  while  I  had  never 
been  taught  to  cook  very  much,  Frank  did  not 
seem  to  mind  it  when  I  made  a  failure  of  the 
biscuits  and  other  things  I  tried.  If  he  had 
given  me  time  I  would  have  learned,  wouldn't 
I  ?  Then  I  got  pregnant.  After  that  Frank  was 
hateful  to  me,  and  I  suppose  I  was  the  same 
to  him.  He  would  not  let  me  alone,  and  I  fixed 
up  another  room  for  myself.  Nearly  every 
night  I  would  hear  him  coming  in,  may  be  at 
twelve,  one  or  two  o'clock.  He  would  go  to 
bed,  without  coming  to  ask  how  I  was  or  any- 
thing, and  sometimes  I  cried  half  the  night.  I 
saw  him  but  little  except  at  the  few  meals  he 
ate  at  home.  He'd  rather  get  his  supper  down 
town  and  spend  the  evening  with  the  boys, 
playing  pool  or  something — some  said  cards, 
but  I  never  knew.  Many  of  those  days  and 
nights  I  sat  at  home  alone  with  my  thoughts. 

"Once  I  asked  him,  if  he  did  not  care  to 
be  with  me,  why  had  he  married  me?  Was  I 
to  blame  for  my  condition?  He  said  I  should 
have  known  better  than  to  get  that  way.  I 
asked  him  what  he  did  out  every  night.  He 
said  it  was  none  of  my  business  what  he  did ; 
he  wanted  me  to  distinctly  understand  that  I 
had  no  right  to  question  his  movements.  A 
few  days  after  that  some  of  my  girl  friends 
brought  me  the  information  that  Frank  had 
been  seen  out  joy-riding  with  a  party,  the  worn- 


110  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

en  of  which  were  of  more  or  less  questionable 
repute.  When  I  accused  him  of  it  he  was 
mad  all  through.  He  called  me  a  jealous  fool 
and  slapped  me  in  the  face.  I  have  heard  of 
wives  that  love  their  husbands  all  the  more 
when  beaten  by  them,  but  with  that  blow  all 
my  love  for  Frank  Arnold  was  killed.  I  cried 
myself  sick  over  it,  and  had  it  not  been  for 
my  mother,  and  for  the  thoughts  of  my  unborn 
baby,  I  think  I  would  have  killed  myself,  I 
was  so  unhappy.  Oh,  what  brutes  men  are,  I 
thought.  All  they  want  of  a  wife  is  to  satisfy 
their  lusts.  Frank  even  told  me  he  was  a  fool 
to  marry — the  single  men  were  the  ones  that 
had  the  good  times." 

"How  dreadful,  how  dreadful!"  the  old 
lady  commented.  "Poor  child,"  she  said  as 
she  drew  her  chair  closer  and  stroked  the  girl's 
hand. 

"Do'you  want  to  hear  the  rest  of  it?"  Lot- 
tie asked. 

"Yes,  yes,  go  on.  When  you  are  done,  I 
will  tell  you  a  little  story  myself. ' ' 

"As  I  said,  I  never  could  have  lived  but 
for  my  mother.  She  came  to  see  me  nearly 
every  day.  She  said  Frank  would  be  different 
after  the  baby  was  born.  I  thought,  yes,  he 
will  be  different  until  another  is  coming  then 
it  will  be  the  same  story  over  again.  What 
hope  has  a  wife  with  such  a  husband,  and 
what  courage  to  bring  a  family  into  the  world  ? 
I  did  not  care  what  happened.  Along  toward 
the  last  I  was  sick  in  bed,  and  I  had  some  kind 


MRS.  KING'S  BOARDING  HOUSE.  Ill 

of  convulsions.  When  the  baby  was  born,  it 
was  dead.  The  doctor  said  Frank  had  some  di- 
sease. He  told  Mother  this  privately,  but  sht, 
told  me.  When  they  told  Frank  the  baby  was 
dead,  he  did  not  seem  to  care  in  the  least.  I 
am  glad  now  myself,  but  when  I  saw  the  poor 
little  thing,  so  cute  and  innocent  lying  there 
cold  and  dead,  I  thought  my  heart  would 
break. 

"When  I  got  well,  I  went  to  see  a  lawyer, 
and  applied  for  a  divorce.  As  soon  as  I  did 
this  Frank  left  the  house  and  never  came  back. 
After  a  long  wait  the  case  came  up  and  the 
lawyer  got  me  two  thousand  dollars  alimony 
and  Frank  did  not  appear  to  oppose  the  suit. 
His  father  is  well  to  do  and  they  paid  it  with- 
out delay.  The  doctor  told  the  judge  what  I 
had  been  through  and  some  girl  friends  testi- 
fied about  the  way  Frank  had  acted.  The  di- 
vorce was  granted  in  a  very  few  minutes.  It 
seems  ages  ago — that  year  with  Frank  Ar- 
nold. I  have  stopped  thinking  about  it  now, 
but  I  could  not  see  where  I  had  been  to  blame. 
I  was  just  a  foolish  kid,  and  my  father  said 
my  good  looks  was  my  ruin.  But  I  am  not 
ruined,  am  I,  Mrs.  King?  I  just  made  a  mistake, 
that  is  all.  I  hope  I'll  never  marry  again.  It 
seems  now  days  as  if  men  looked  upon  mar- 
riage as  a  choice  between  a  legal  prostitute 
and  the  kind  money  will  buy.  I  heard  some 
women  talking  on  the  train  as  I  came  here. 
One  of  them  said,  'What  has  he  got  me  for  if 


112  WAYSIDE  EXPEEIENCES. 

he  can't  support  me  as  I  want  to  be  support- 
ed. I  was  better  off  at  home  with  my  folks.' 
The  other  said,  'Sure,  you  can  get  plenty  of 
men  with  money.  If  I  had  your  looks  I  would 
not  take  much  from  him,  I  can  tell  you.' 

"Dear  me,  I  thought,  is  the  whole  world 
fighting  and  struggling  with  this  marriage 
thing?  Are  men  only  buying  and  women  sell- 
ing themselves  to  the  highest  bidder?  Is  there 
no  such  thing  as  love  between  the  sexes?  Has 
it  come  to  be  merely  a  traffic  in  passion  and 
lust?  Do  wives  soon  tire  of  husbands  and  hus- 
bands of  wives?  When  this  comes  is  love  dead? 
When  I  came  out  of  school  my  head  was  full 
of  ideals  and  my  heart  of  passion.  I  dreamed 
of  a  home  and  love.  I  pictured  my  children 
and  wanted  them.  I  never  thought  the  world 
was  like  this.  It  took  me  nearly  five  years  to 
get  over  the  shock  of  parting  with  my  illusions. 
I  am  not  sure  I  am  free  from  all  of  them  yet, — 
I  am  just  a  bit  hardened  now  and  a  little  bit- 
ter too  may  be.  Still  I  am  going  to  do  some- 
thing and  be  something  yet.  I've  tasted  of 
experience  and  it  was  not  pleasant.  What  I 
thought  would  be  sweet,  turned  out  bitter. 
Now  Mrs.  King,  that's  all  my  story.  Do  you 
see  any  hope  for  me?"  and  the  girl  smiled 
through  her  tears. 

The  old  lady  smoothed  the  apron  over  her 
knees  and  said,  "Yes,  dear  child,  you  have  all 
the  world  before  you.  You  are  just  at  life's 
threshold.  What  you  have  been  through  seems 
hard,  but  others  have  seen  worse.  You  feel 


MRS.  KING'S  BOARDING  HOUSE.  113 

wronged  and  sore,  but  others  have  had  greater 
injustice  and  greater  wrongs  to  bear.  You 
are  just  now  a  bit  down  on  men,  but,  land 
sakes,  let  me  tell  you  child,  you  just  can't 
judge  'em  all  by  the  sample  you  happened  to 
get  an'  the  few  others  you  hear  about.  There's 
some  pesky  bad  men,  and  some  just  as  bad 
women,  but  the  old  world  is  full  of  good  ones, 
both  sexes.  What  you  and  me,  and  other  folks, 
has  got  to  do  is  to  find  out  the  good  ones  and 
let  the  other  kind  alone.  I  ain't  sayin'  a  wom- 
an would  want  to  marry  every  man  she  meets. 
Even  the  best  of  '  em  has  got  some  weak  points. 
I  suspect  all  of  us  has  got  some  failin's.  Now 
there's  Ezra — we've  been  married  go  in'  on 
sixty  years.  It  don't  seem  such  a  long  time 
ago  he  used  to  come  courtin'  around  our 
house.  My  father  used  to  say  Ezra  King  had 
likely  parts,  even  for  a  young  wheelwright, 
an'  I  guess  Ezra  had  the  pick  of  the  girls  in 
our  old  home  town.'* 

A  kind  of  far  away  look  came  into  the  old 
lady's  eyes  as  she  called  out  of  memory  the 
days  of  her  youth.  The  girl  said  nothing. 

"Well,  when  Ezra  asked  me,  I  was  glad 
'cause  I  wanted  him.  In  those  days  girls 
were  educated  mostly  to  do  useful  work.  My 
mother  told  Ezra  he  was  gettin'  as  good  a 
housekeeper  as  there  was  to  be  found.  I  could 
make,  I  will  say  myself  without  boastin,'  as 
good  biscuits  then  as  I  can  now.  But,  dear 
me,  now  days  girls  don't  think  housekeepin' 
amounts  to  anything.  They  want  a  full  set  of 


114  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

servants  to  come  along  with  the  marriage  li- 
cense. 'Stead  of  helping  their  mothers,  as  I 
used  to,  they  expect  the  mothers  to  wait  on 
them,  unless  parents  can  hire  someone  to  do 
it. 

44 But  I'm  gettin'  off  my  story.  Let's  see, — 
oh,  yes,  we  soon  fixed  a  place  for  ourselves, 
and  our  wedding  journey  was  from  my  father's 
house  to  one  of  our  own.  My  mother  used  to 
say,  'There  ain't  no  roof  big  enough  to  cover 
two  families'  an'  I  ain't  disputin'  her  word 
none  yet.  We  had  a  little  house  first  down  by 
the  wagon  shop.  It  cost  us  four  dollars  a 
month  rent.  Ezra  gave  me  ten  dollars  to  buy 
our  dishes  and  kitchen  fixin's  and,  my!  what 
an  outfit  we  had!  I  was  only  eighteen — just 
the  same  as  you — and  my  first  baby  came  in- 
side a  year.  I  had  four  that's  living  and  two 
that's  dead.  I've  got  now,  let  me  see, — twelve 
grandchildren,  some  of  'em  as  old  as  you  be. 
Well,  as  I  was  a  sayin'  we  went  to  house- 
keeping down  by  the  wagon  shop.  It  wasn't 
more  'n  half  a  block  away,  and  sometimes 
Ezra  would  come  to  the  door  and  wave  his 
hand  to  me  where  I'd  be  sittin'  by  the  win- 
dow with  my  sewin'  work  or  somethin.'  When 
I'd  see  his  big  shoulders  and  the  apron  swing 
in'  in  his  hand,  I'd  say  to  myself,  that's  my 
Ezra,  and  I  was  proud  of  him.  I've  been  proud 
of  him  ever  since. 

"By  and  by  when  I  got  nearer  the  time  for 
the  baby  I  was  ashamed  to  go  out — you  know 
how  women  feel  about  such  things — he'd  say, 


MRS.  KING'S  BOARDING  HOUSE.  115 

'What's  the  difference?  'Tain't  nothin'  we 
need  be  ashamed  of.'  I  do  believe  Ezra  was 
prouder  of  me  them  times  than  any  other. 
But  I  would  not  get  out  much  'cept  at  dusk, 
we'd  go  walking  down  the  river  road,  where 
we  most  likely  wouldn't  meet  anyone.  Ezra 
would  be  just  as  tender  and  courtin'  like  and, 
land  sakes!  I  don't  say  we  was  different  from 
other  folks,  but  one  thing  Ezra  never  went 
traipsin'  around  after  other  women  then  or 
any  time. 

4 'We  had  too  much  to  do,  tendin'  the  chil- 
dren and  gettin'  a  start  in  the  world  to  think 
about  bein'  tired  of  one  another.  May  be 
times  has  changed,  but  I  have  a  notion  folks 
is  about  the  same  as  they  always  was.  Of 
course  I  know  there's  a  difference  somehow 
'twixt  men  and  women — just  about  the  same 
difference  as  between  the  critters  of  the  field; 
but  men  are  supposed  to  be  human  and  civi- 
lized and  ought  to  have  some  sense  of  honor 
and  consideration  for  what  a  wife  is  doin'  for 
'em  when  she  bears  'em  a  child.  But  that's 
neither  here  nor  there.  It  has  nothin'  to  do 
with  my  story. 

"Well,  just  as  we  got  nicely  started  in,  an' 
Ezra  had  moved  us  here  to  begin  a  shop  for 
himself  and  we  had  the  four  children  comin' 
along,  what  should  happen  but  the  war.  Every- 
body was  goin'  to  the  army — there  was  noth- 
in' but  hard  times.  Ezra  wanted  to  go  too, 
but  I  said  there  was  plenty  that  wouldn't  leave 
a  widow  and  four  children  that  could  do  the 


116  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

fightin.'  So  he  went  to  makin'  wagons  for  the 
government  and  done  very  well  by  it  too.  Many 
times  some  of  them  big  officials  from  Washing- 
ton would  come  up  to  see  him  about  wagons  an' 
he  nearly  always  brought  them  up  for  dinner 
to  show  'em  the  reasons  why  he  couldn't  go  to 
war,  meanin'  the  children  and  me.  I  was  keep- 
in'  help  them  da.ys  and  we'd  get  up  a  good  din- 
ner for  'em.  My,  how  they  used  to  talk  and 
praise  things  up,  but  it  made  Ezra  proud  to 
have  other  men  praise  his  wife.  Still  I  expect 
if  he  thought  I  fancied  or  cared  more  for  the 
praise  of  outsiders  than  I  did  for  his,  we  'd  had 
trouble  same  as  some  other  folks. 

1  'After  the  war  was  over  we  got  some  con- 
siderable well  to  do.  The  children  grew  up 
an*  we  gave  'em  a  good  deal  better  education 
than  we  ever  had,  but  I  ain't  sayin'  it  has 
made  'em  any  happier.  Then  by  and  by,  these 
here  trust  came  along  an'  Ezra  couldn't  make 
wagons  to  sell  agin  'em.  Soon  after  this  a 
bank  failed  and  'most  swamped  us,  but  the 
house  was  mine  and  they  couldn't  touch  that. 
I  remember  the  night  Ezra  came  home  after  it 
happened.  He  kissed  me  just  as  he  always 
does,  but  he  was  mighty  glum.  When  he  told 
me  how  things  had  gone,  I  said,  'What's  the 
difference,  Ezra?  We're  gettin'  old  and  don't 
need  much — the  children  are  all  settled  for 
themselves,  so  we  will  get  along  all  right.' 
Since  then  I  took  in  boys  for  boarders  to  keep 
the  old  house  from  bein'  empty  and  lonesome, 
and  Ezra  sees  to  tinkering  about  the  shop 


MRS.  KING'S  BOARDING  HOUSE.  117 

some,  so  we  can't  complain  about  the  way  the 
Lord's  dealt  with  us.  It  ain't  much  trouble  in 
this  world  to  be  happy  if  folks  don't  ask  too 
much  to  make  'em  so,  an'  most  happy  mar- 
riages comes  from  both  parties  not  expectin' 
nor  countin'  on  the  other  bein'  an  angel.  My 
notion  of  what  they're  callin'  eugenics  these 
days  is  just  common  sense.  If  folks  will  work 
hard  and  be  honest  with  one  another,  there 
won't  be  many  divorces,  an'  what  there  is 
ought  to  be  anyway. 

"Well  now,  ain't  we  had  a  good  talk?  I  feel 
a  mighty  sight  better  now  I  know  all  about 
you  an'  you  know  all  about  Ezra  and  me.  I 
couldn't  get  a  word  out  of  that  brother  of 
yours  why  you  was  sort  of  alone  in  the  world. 
Now  I  must  trot  along  an'  get  the  girls  started 
on  them  riz-biscuits.  You  never  did  see  such 
appetites  for  riz-biscuits  as  my  boys  have,  'spe- 
cially that  Sim,  an'  he  ain't  nothin'  but  a 
bank  clerk  neither.  Cheer  up  now,  my  dear. 
I  ain't  sorry  I  broke  my  rule  about  women 
boarders.  I've  been  motherin'  boys  so  long 
it'll  do  me  good  to  change  for  a  while." 

When  the  good  old  soul  had  gone  down  to 
the  tasks  in  the  kitchen,  Lottie  sat  by  the  win 
dow  and  cried.     If  anyone  had  asked  her  why, 
she  could  not  have  told. 

(It  might  be  well  if  in  the  play  we  leave 
her  here  by  the  window,  for  she  and  the  old 
lady  have  said  their  lines.  If  the  lesson  has 
not  been  carried  home  by  the  words  of  the  last 
scene,  our  task  has  failed.  Anyway  Lottie  can 


118  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

go.  There  may  be  someone  waiting  for  her  at 
the  stage  door  with  a  limousine  and  a  supper 
engagement.) 


I  have  been  away  from  Mrs.  King's 
boarding  House  about  a  year  now,  trying  to 
take  a  few  steps  for  myself  up  that  ladder  call- 
ed Success.  When  I  went  away  Lottie  had 
made  herself  one  of  us.  She  had  started  in  the 
study  of  the  millinery  business  expecting  to 
set  up  for  herself. 

I  rang  the  old  familiar  door  bell  and  the 
good  old  lady  welcomed  me  heartily.  I  must 
stay,  while  she  asked  me  a  thousand  questions 
about  myself  and  how  I  had  been  getting  along. 
She  could  make  people  talk  about  themselves 
the  best  of  any  person  I  ever  knew. 

As  soon  as  I  could  get  around  to  it  I  asked 
about  Lottie. 

"For  the  land  sakes!  Didn't  you  know? 
Why,  she  went  and  married  Sim.  They've 
been  married  six  months  now  and  live  just 
around  the  other  side  of  the  block.  Oh,  but 
they're  happy!  Sim  just  worships  her,  and  I 
guess  she  about  the  same  as  does  him.  Some 
of  you  boys  used  to  call  him  old  Sim — why 
Sim's  only  thirty-five,  even  if  he  is  so  bald. 
He's  cashier  now  at  the  bank  an'  Ezra  says 
there  ain't  no  handsomer  couple  comes  to  our 
church.  You  ought  to  have  been  here.  The 
boys  had  no  end  of  fun  with  Sim,  but  he  took  it 
all  sweet  as  could  be.  He  said  they  was  all  jeal- 
ous to  see  him  gettin'  Lottie  away  from  'em, 


MES.  KING'S  BOARDING  HOUSE.  119 

so  he  could  stand  it  if  they  could.  Now  you 
just  make  yourself  to  home,  '  cause  you  got  to 
stay  for  supper  an'  I  must  go  and  see  about 
them  riz-biscuits.  The  boys  will  be  glad  to  see 
you,  and  so  will  Ezra.  After  supper  I'll  take 
you  *  round  to  see  Lottie  an'  Sim,"  and  the 
dear  old  Mrs.  King  tottered  out  to  the  kitchen. 
Now,  who  would  have  thought  that  of  old 
Sim? 


Sowing  and  Reaping  Wild 
Oats. 


Mr.  Charles  Gaylord  Jennings  as  the  only 
son  of  that  well-known  citizen,  Judson  Jen- 
nings, the  leading  capitalist  of  our  town.  "Old 
Jud"  as  his  club  members  called  him,  had  a 
finger  in  about  every  good  thing  that  commer- 
cial enterprise  offered.  His  practical  hard- 
headed  business  sense  had  made  him  a  recog- 
nized leader  in  business  affairs.  He  made  a 
success  of  everything  he  undertook  except — 
rearing  a  son.  "Cholly"  Jennings  was  his 
father's  constant  sore  spot,  especially  since  he 
went  away  to  college. 

It  is  not  a  part  of  our  story  to  relate  the 
boy's  experiences  at  school  and  college.  He 
came  home  from  Yale  at  twenty-four  and  he 
brought  with  him  a  tremendous  record  for  be 
ing  a  good  fellow,  also  several  vicious  habits, 
and  the  only  knowledge  he  had  of  money  was 
the  art  of  spending  it.  His  first  interview  with 
the  "Governor"  on  reaching  home  was  not  es- 
pecially reassuring. 

"Charles,"  said  his  father,  "what  now?" 
They  were  seated  in  the  old  gentleman's  office 
at  the  wholesale  grocery  house,  which  had  been 
the  nester  for  the  Jennings  fortune.  Judson 
Jennings  still  called  himself  a  wholesale  gro- 


123  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

eer,  notwithstanding  his  presidency  of  one 
bank,  his  directorship  in  several  others  and  his 
large  holdings  in  several  of  our  growing  indus- 
trial concerns. 

"Well,  Dad,  it's  up  to  you." 

The  son  knew  the  great  longing  of  his  fath- 
er's heart,  that  he  might  be  able  and  competent 
to  take  his  natural  place  at  the  head  of  the 
house  of  Jennings  when  the  father's  time  came 
to  surrender  it.  From  numerous  signs  and 
stray  sentences  in  his  father's  letters  for  a 
year  or  more,  he  realized  that  the  time  had 
come  for  him  to  prove  himself,  and  he  had 
come  home  with  that  determination  firmly  fix- 
ed. His  career  at  college  had  not  been  marked 
with  any  special  honors  or  record  of  great  at- 
tainment. He  had  managed  to  graduate — he 
had  not  disgraced  himself  that  anyone  knew. 
He  was  popular  among  fellows  of  like  finan- 
cial standing.  He  had  not  worked — he  had  no 
decided  ambitions  and  took  very  little  interest 
in  anything  unless  it  might  be  recognized  in 
his  devotion  to  college  athletics.  He  had  also 
been  a  party  to  many  quietly  conducted, 
though  questionable  social  affairs  with  women 
he  would  not  have  cared  to  introduce  to  his 
mother  and  sisters  at  home. 

Following  one  of  these  social  affairs  "Chol- 
ly"  had  a  siege  of  gonorrhoea  which  a  certain 
doctor  had  "cured"  for  fifty  dollars.  When 
this  doctor  investigated  young  Jennings'  finan- 
cial connection  he  wished  he  had  charged  him 
a  hundred.  This  had  happened  late  in  the 


SOWING  AND  REAPING  WILD  OATS.       123 

Freshman  year.  It  was  during  the  Senior  year 
that  Charles  was  an  oarsman  in  a  winning 
crew  and  while  in  the  practice  work  he  ' '  strain- 
ed" himself  and  was  laid  up  with  a  severe  at- 
tack of  orchitis.  He  took  no  part  in  the  boat 
races  that  year. 

However,  he  came  home  in  good  health, 
mind  and  body,  as  far  as  any  usual  observer 
could  judge,  and  his  father  welcomed  him  with 
questioning  hopes  and  fears.  He  came  home 
with  his  marriage  plans  all  made,  with  a  girl  of 
his  choice  from  among  the  many  good  girls  of 
our  town.  The  wedding  day  had  been  set  for 
October  and  the  two  fathers,  old  Judson  Jen- 
nings and  old  James  Mclntosh,  talked  it  over 
at  the  club. 

(<You  see,  Jim,  that  cub  of  mine  hasn't  the 
first  idea  of  what  a  dollar  is  worth.  It  is  up 
to  us  to  teach  him — it  may  be  too  late,  but  I 
am  going  to  try." 

"Oh,  Charlie  is  all  right.  He'll  come  out 
well.  Carrie  thinks  everything  of  him  and  I 
guess  he  does  of  her.  Don't  make  it  too  hard 
on  them  Judson. 

"No,  listen  to  me.  I'm  going  to  give  him  a 
job — that's  all,  you  understand,  a  job.  If  he 
makes  good  I'll  promote  him.  If  not,  I'll  fire 
him." 

"Then  give  him  another  job  next  day,  eh, 
Judson?"  and  Carrie's  father  chuckled. 

Mr.  Mclntosh  knew  of  many  times  when 
telegrams  had  been  received  at  the  Jennings  of- 
fice calling  for  hurry  up  funds  or  the  father's 


124  WAYSIDE  EXPEEIENCES. 

personal  presence  to  get  his  seemingly  ne'er-do- 
well  son  out  of  scrapes  here  and  there  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  country  to  which  touring 
car  or  other  excursions  had  taken  him. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  try  once  more  and  if 
that  daughter  of  yours  don't  make  him  settle 
down  and  behave  himself,  attend  to  business 
and  amount  to  something,  I'll  cut  him  off  with- 
out a  penny — not  a  penny,  by  Gad!"  and  Jud- 
son  Jennings  brought  down  his  fist  with  a 
sounding  whack  upon  the  table  before  them. 

It  was  settled  however,  that  Father  Mcln- 
tosh  should  give  Carrie  the  house  fittings  and 
furnishings  and  Father  Jennings  should  give 
her  a  deed  to  a  neat  little  six  room  house  that 
would  be  their  first  home.  Charles  already  had 
a  car  he  called  his  own,  and  he  induced  his 
father  to  add  a  garage  for  it  on  the  back  end 
of  the  lot.  It  was  quite  a  come  down  for  them 
but  "love  in  a  cottage"  had  its  redeeming 
features.  Carrie  would  keep  one  maid  and  she 
felt  sure  they  would  get  along — on  the  quiet 
they  knew  it  was  to  be  a  sort  of  test  and  they 
had  only  to  accept  it  gracefully  for  the  pre- 
sent, looking  to  the  future. 

Charles  Gaylord  Jennings  took  his  "job" 
as  the  head  of  the  order  department  in  his  fath- 
er's wholesale  grocery  concern  at  one  hundred 
dollars  a  month. 

"I  shall  expect  you  to  live  on  that  too,  you 
understand.  It  is  four  times  what  I  started  on 
and  you  can  do  it."  said  his  father.  "Every 
six  months  I  will  raise  it,  if  your  work  shows 


SOWING  AND  REAPING  WILD  OATS.       125 

you  deserve  it.  This  business  has  got  to  grow, 
and  if  you  can't  make  it  increase,  I'll  hire 
someone  else  who  can." 

So  Charlie  settled  down  to  business.  He 
was  down  to  the  office  on  time  and  punched 
into  the  clock  with  the  others.  He  studied 
hard  to  increase  the  sales  and  reduce  expenses. 
He  discovered  and  reported  several  small 
''leaks"  and  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  when  he 
saw  the  smile  of  satisfaction  that  crept  over 
his  father's  face.  Outwardly  the  old  man  ap- 
peared to  take  everything  as  a  matter  of  course. 
If  things  went  well  he  said  nothing.  When 
anything  went  wrong  he  "raised  the  devil"  as 
the  old  bookkeeper  expressed  it.  However,  as 
the  Summer  went  along,  everybody  said  Char- 
lie was  making  good,  but  "Old  Jud"  admitted 
it  to  no  one  except  "Old  Jim"  at  the  club.  Mr. 
Mclntosh  told  Carrie  and  Carrie  told  Charlie, 
and  the  boy — smiled. 

The  wedding  day  came  along.  The  house 
had  been  fitted  and  furnished  handsomely.  Car- 
rie had  been  all  the  Summer  getting  together 
those  items  of  pretty  details  that  every  woman 
of  taste  feels  she  must  have  to  be  happy,  and 
the  wedding  gifts  added  a  plenty  more.  The 
happy  couple  had  planned  a  wedding  journey 
in  their  own  car — a  few  days  with  stops  at 
points  of  interest. 

"We'll  be  back  inside  a  week,  Dad,"  the 
son  said.  "I  can't  spare  the  time  or  the  money 
for  a  long  trip.  I  am  going  after  that  new  ter- 
ritory as  soon  as  we  get  home." 


126  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

The  old  father  was  immensely  pleased  with 
his  son's  work  that  Summer,  and  he  kissed  the 
bride  and  clasped  his  son's  hands  with  more 
than  his  usual  show  of  affection. 

About  two  weeks  after  the  wedding,  indeed 
it  followed  their  return  from  the  trip,  Carrie 
was  taken  sick.  She  had  dreadful  pains  about 
the  hips  and  an  almost  intolerable  burning  of 
the  urine.  A  chill  or  two  sent  her  to  bed  and 
old  Dr.  Blossom  was  called  to  see  her. 

"Ah,  I  see,  I  see,"  said  the  dear  old  doc- 
tor. He  had  been  the  Mclntosh  family  physi- 
cian for  years  and  knew  Carrie's  health  his- 
tory from  the  cradle.  He  advised  her  to  stay 
in  bed,  gave  her  soothing  medicines,  prescrib- 
ed vaginal  douches,  hot  applications  to  the  ab- 
domen and  pelvis  and  a  liberal  use  of  urinary 
antiseptics. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her,  doctor"  was 
Charlie's  anxious  question  at  the  door,  as  the 
doctor  was  leaving. 

"Just  a  little  bladder  inflammation.  Often 
happens  in  young  married  folks.  Nothing  ser- 
ious, nothing  serious.  She'll  be  all  right  in  a 
few  days.  Over  indulgence,  my  boy,  over  in- 
dulgence. Don't  worry,  don't  worry,"  and  the 
old  doctor  plodded  out  the  gate. 

As  the  doctor  predicted,  Carrie  was  about 
again  in  a  few  days,  looking  a  little  pale  to  be 
sure,  but  apparently  well.  She  complained 
still  of  some  pain  and  was  annoyed  by  a  dis- 
charge, but  these  troubles  would  soon  pass 
away  the  doctor  said.  The  suspicion  that  lurk- 


SOWING  AND  REAPING   WILD  OATS.       127 

ed  in  the  husband's  mind  was  mentioned  to  no 
one.  He  just  wondered  if  her  sickness  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  trouble  he  had  at  col- 
lege, but  it  could  not  be.  He  had  been  perfect- 
ly well  now  for  three  years  or  more.  No,  it 
could  not  be.  If  the  doctor  had  thought  of 
any  such  thing  he  would  have  said  something. 
He  would  forget  it.  Now  to  business. 

After  Carrie  was  quite  herself  again  Char- 
lie went  after  that  new  territory.  He  had  been 
studying  salesmanship.  A  private  course  by 
mail  taken  secretly,  had  given  him  many  new 
ideas.  He  figured  he  could  double  the  business 
inside  a  year.  His  father  had  been  content  to 
let  things  drift  along,  attending  to  the  wants 
of  his  regular  customers  and  collecting  the 
bills  as  they  came  due.  What  the  Jennings 
concern  needed  was  new  life,  new  blood.  He 
would  inject  this  new  life — he  was  doing  it.  He 
had  put  the  accounting  system  on  a  better  bas- 
is. The  orders  were  filled  and  delivered  more 
promptly.  The  city  trade  had  already  greatly 
increased,  and  two  new  auto-trucks  with  "The 
Judson  Jennings  Co."  boldly  lettered  on  them, 
went  about  with  loads  of  goods  that  told  of 
sales. 

He  went  away  on  this  trip  to  canvass  a  field 
that  had  been  neglected  for  some  years.  It 
took  about  three  weeks  to  cover  it.  There  was 
a  daily  letter  to  Carrie  and  daily  orders  to 
the  house.  He  added  a  good  list  of  new  names 
to  their  accounts.  He  had  with  him  the  sales- 
man who  was  to  look  after  the  territory  after 


128  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

this  initial  canvass,  and  he  returned  glowing 
with  success.  His  father  was  pleased  and  for 
once  admitted  it.  The  old  man  congratulated 
himself  upon  the  wisdom  of  putting  the  son 
where  he  had  to  show  his  metal.  Charles  was 
a  Jennings  all  right  and  had  good  business 
blood  in  him.  He  was  evidently  going  to  prove 
out  his  heredity.  He  wished  now  Carrie  would 
give  him  a  grandson.  He  wished  the  name  of 
Jennings  might  become  a  fixed  institution  in 
the  town  to  which  he  had  himself  come  as  a 
poor  boy. 

The  car  was  waiting  at  the  station  when 
Charlie  stepped  off  the  train  and  Carrie  was 
in  it  to  welcome  him.  It  was  late  afternoon, 
but  he  must  stop  at  the  office  to  file  a  report 
and  attend  to  some  details.  He  wanted  to  see 
his  father  too. 

"Such  a  confirmed  business  man,  I  never 
saw,"  she  said,  after  waiting  for  him  half  an 
hour  at  the  office  door,  during  which  he  had 
his  talk  with  his  father. 

"Yes,  but  Carrie,  I'm  making  good.  Dad's 
as  tickled  as  a  boy  with  a  new  top.  I  can  see 
that,"  and  away  they  spun  for  the  little  home. 

Two  or  three  days  later  Dr.  Xury  T.  Lane 
had  an  office  caller. 

"Well,  Charlie,  how  are  you?"  he  said 
greeting  Charles  Gaylord  Jennings  with  his 
usual  hearty  handshake.  Dr.  Lane  had  been 
long  on  friendly  terms  with  young  Jennings, 
They  belonged  to  the  same  club,  yet  he  had 


SOWING  AND  REAPING   WILD  OATS.       129 

seldom  been  called  upon  to  attend  any  of  the 
family  professionally. 

"Doc,  I've  come  to  you  as  a  friend  as  well 
as  a  doctor.  I'm  up  against  something  and 
I  want  to  know  the  truth.  Now  look  at  that 
and  tell  me  what's  the  matter,"  he  said  ex- 
posing himself  for  the  doctor's  examination. 
As  the  doctor  made  his  study  of  the  case,  he 
also  did  some  thinking. 

"When  did  this  start?" 

"Yesterday." 

"Been  away  from  home?" 
"Yes,    gone    three    weeks.      Returned    three 
days  ago. 

"Exposed  to  anything  while  away?" 

"Not  on  your  life!" 

"Well,  if  you  want  it  blunt  and  straight, 
you've  got  an  acute  case  of  gonorrhea." 

The  young  man  staggered  as  if  struck. 

"My  God,  doctor,  you  don't  mean  it." 
"I  certainly  do." 

"My  wife — my  wife  has  given  it  to  me. 
I  thought  I  married  a  good  girl — what  shall  I 
do?  I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  her.  She 
has  been  untrue  to  me,  maybe  while  I  have 
been  away.  If  not  then,  before.  Oh,  these 
damned  deceitful  lying  women — Oh,  my  Dad, 
my  poor  old,  Dad,  what  will  he  say?"  and 
Mr.  Charles  Gaylord  Jennings  stormed  about 
the  office  almost  beside  himself,  talking  of  di- 
vorce and  other  tragedies. 

"Not  so  fast,  Charlie,"  said  Dr.  Xury 
when  he  thought  the  young  man  had  relieved 


130  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

his  mind  a  little.  "Let  us  investigate  this  mat- 
ter a  moment.  You  have  had  this  trouble  be- 
fore haven't  you?" 

"Doctor,  I  will  not  lie  to  you.  I  had  some- 
thing like  it  at  college,  but  that  was  three  or 
four  years  ago,  and  I  was  cured  of  that  all 
right." 

"No  use  to  lie  to  me  Charlie,  for  I  know 
this  is  not  the  first  attack.  I  could  see  that 
plain  enough.  Now  let  me  tell  you  something. 
It  may  hurt  but  it's  true.  You  are  the  only 
guilty  party  to  this  thing.  You  gave  the  di- 
sease to  your  wife.  Was  she  not  sick  with 
something  soon  after  you  were  married?" 

"Yes,  but  Dr.  Blossom  said  it  was  nothing." 

"Well,  may  be  so,  but  it  was  then  you  in- 
fected her.  She  has  now  given  you  back  your 
old  friends  in  a  more  virulent  form — she  has 
paid  you  back  in  your  own  coin — and  you  de- 
serve it.  You  have  just  been  saying  you  would 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  her.  You  have 
talked  about  a  divorce,  but  what  you  ought  to 
do  would  be  to  crawl  all  the  way  home  on  your 
hands  and  knees  and  beg  her  forgiveness.  Talk 
about  marrying  a  good  girl,  why  man,  what 
kind  of  a  husband  did  she  get  when  she  mar- 
ried you,  with  such  a  disease  as  this  chronic 
in  your  system? 

"But  the  doctor  said  I  was  all  right.  What 
are  doctors  good  for,  if  we  can't  depend  upon 
what  they  say?  I  asked  him  if  it  would  be  all 
right  for  me  to  marry,  and  he  said  it  would." 


SOWING  AND  HEAPING  WILD  OATS.        131 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Dr.  Lane,  "we  have 
learned  more  about  this  disease  than  we  used 
to  know.  We  know  now  that  it  is  a  worse 
scourge  than  tuberculosis.  It  kills  more  wom- 
en, most  of  them  innocent  women  too,  than  any 
other  sickness.  It  steals  into  our  homes  like  a 
thief  in  the  night,  to  rob  us  of  our  health  and 
happiness.  Yet  people  are  so  prudish  we  can- 
not educate  them  about  it.  When  the  govern- 
ment taught  the  boys  of  the  Navy  to  protect 
themselves  against  this  disease,  there  was  a 
hue  and  cry  that  the  officials  were  encouraging 
immorality.  I  leave  it  to  you  if  it  would  not 
be  better  for  such  fellows  as  you  to  have  in- 
struction about  this  trouble  and  its  prevention 
than  to  face  what  you  must  because  of  your 
wild  oats  sowing.  It  will  probably  make  you 
sterile,  if  it  has  not  already.  Oh,  I  am  giving 
you  the  worst  side  of  it  I  know,  yet  what  about 
the  wife  ?  She  may  have  her  peritonitis  and  pel- 
vic abscesses  and  have  to  go  on  the  surgeon's 
table  to  save  her  life,  and  then  may  be  not  save 
it" 

"That  is  enough  doctor.  I  can't  stand  any 
more,"  the  young  man  cried.  "Now  give  me 
the  best  side  of  it." 

"Well,  I  will  treat  you  and  do  the  best  I 
can.  Your  wife  should  have  treatment  also. 
It  will  be  a  long  hard  fight  and  even  then  no 
doctor  on  earth  can  say  positively  that  you  are 
cured.  You  will  both  have  to  use  antiseptic 
protection  or  you  will  go  on  trading  the  disease 
back  and  forth  until  you  establish  a  like  im- 


132  WAYSIDE  EXPEEIENCES. 

munity.  At  best  your  sex-happiness  is  nipped 
in  the  bud  and  no  one  can  say  what  the  future 
may  have  in  store  for  either  of  you." 

The  treatments  went  along  and  after  a  few 
months  both  Charlie  and  Carrie  had  fairly 
good  health  again.  The  wife  was  thinner  and 
paler,  but  except  that  she  tired  very  easily,  she 
was  cheerful  and  happy.  Charles  G.  Jennings 
carried  his  secret. 

A  year  or  more  went  by.  Charles  was  mak- 
ing good.  They  had  saved  some  money  even 
at  the  salary  first  received.  By  this  time  it  had 
been  advanced  to  two  hundred  a  month.  The 
old  father  was  very  proud  and  full  of  hope 
about  his  son.  The  day  ending  the  second 
year,  when  they  talked  about  the  future,  the 
father  said,  "Charlie,  what  is  the  matter  up  at 
your  house?  I  haven't  heard  about  any  habios 
yet.  I  want  a  grandson,  you  understand — a 
grandson." 

"I  don't  know,  Dad,  we're  both  willing  but 
no  signs  yet,"  laughed  the  young  man. 

"You  tell  her  for  me,  she'd  look  far  better 
fondling  a  baby  than  that  pug  she  always  has 
with  her.  Tell  her  that — you  understand?" 

That  night  Charlie  repeated  his  father's 
words  to  his  wife. 

"You  may  tell  Father  Jennings  I  fondle  dogs 
because  I  haven't  anything  else.  Oh,  Charlie, 
I  do  want  a  baby — I've  been  wanting  one  all 
along,  but  I  did  not  say  much  about  it,"  and 
the  young  wife  burst  into  tears. 


SOWING  AND  EEAPING  WILD  OATS.        133 

"There,  there,"  he  said,  "it  will  come  out 
all  right.  If  we  can't  get  one  of  our  own,  we 
can  take  one." 

"No,  I  want  one  of  my  very  own." 

Several  months  passed,  but  no  pregnancy  oc- 
curred. Carrie  finally  consulted  Dr.  Blossom 
again.  He  said  it  might  be  due  to  acid  secre- 
tions, or  uterine  inflammation.  He  would  treat 
her  and  see  if  these  things  could  not  be  cor- 
rected. So  the  poor  girl  submitted  herself  to  a 
long  series  of  treatments — tampons,  douches, 
medicines,  tonics,  electricity  and  one  thing  and 
another,  two  or  three  times  a  week,  going  to 
the  doctor's  office.  The  fees  counted  up  but 
Charlie  paid  them  without  a  word  of  protest. 
Her  health  was  now  fairly  good,  and  except  for 
a  dragging  down  feeling  she  had  little  com- 
plaint to  make.  Still  she  did  not  get  pregnant. 

Dr.  Blossom  finally  proposed  that  they  call  in 
a  surgeon  "who  did  his  work"  and  see  what 
he  thought.  This  worthy  authority  insisted 
that  she  should  undergo  a  curettement.  The 
uterus  was  enlarged  and  this  operation  would 
restore  it  to  a  normal  condition.  This  present 
state  might  explain  the  failure  of  pregnancy. 

Willing  to  make  any  sacrifice  the  young  wife 
went  to  the  hospital.  She  was  operated  and 
put  to  bed  for  three  weeks.  The  bill  was  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  hospital  fee  and 
all.  It  was  paid  of  course  and  cheerfully,  but 
Charlie  secretly  felt  the  futility  of  it  all.  He 
had  not  forgotten  Dr.  Xury's  prediction. 


134  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

After  the  operation  Carrie's  health  was 
again  about  as  usual.  She  had  always  been  a 
healthy  girl,  and  only  since  her  marriage  had 
she  any  health  trouble  to  annoy  her.  She 
thought  the  operation  had  helped  the  dragging 
down  feeling,  but  as  months  went  by  no  sign 
of  pregnancy  was  recognized. 

''Doctor,"  said  Charlie  to  Dr.  Xury,  one  day, 
"is  there  any  way  you  can  determine  whose 
fault  it  is  we  don't  have  any  babies  at  our 
house?" 

"Yes,  I  can  tell  if  it's  your  fault,"  and  the 
doctor  explained  to  him  the  tests  to  be  made 
and  the  manner  of  making  them.  A  few  days 
later  Dr.  Xury  sat  over  his  microscope  study- 
ing the  specimen  Charlie  had  brought.  The 
young  man  was  waiting  breathlessly. 

"It  is  as  I  feared,"  the  doctor  said.  "There 
is  not  a  single  protozoon  in  it.  You  are  abso- 
lutely sterile." 

Charlie  dropped  into  a  chair  pale  and 
speechless.  He  saw  all  the  hopes  of  a  happy 
family  life  gone.  He  would  never  be  a  father. 
The  grandson  so  much  wished  for  by  poor  old 
Dad  would  never  come  from  him.  He  cursed 
the  folly  of  his  past  life.  What  a  penalty  to 
pay  for  what  he  thought  a  harmless  lark? 
What  would  the  future  hold  for  him?  For 
Carrie— for  Dad?  Getting  to  his  feet  finally 
he  went  out  saying,  "Don't  tell  anybody,  Dr. 
Xury.  Don't  mention  it,  will  you?" 

As  the  months  went  along  Charlie  was  tor- 
mented with  his  thoughts.  At  times  he  thought 


SOWING  AND  REAPING  WILD  OATS.        135 

he  would  tell  his  wife  everything  and  give 
her  freedom  to  do  what  she  thought  best.  He 
loved  her  devotedly  and  could  not  bear  the 
thought  she  might  turn  against  him.  He  could 
not  lose  her.  What  difference  did  it  make  any- 
way? Children  are  often  a  care  and  sorrow. 
Perhaps  if  they  had  a  son  he  would  grow  up 
to  be  a  curse  instead  of  a  blessing.  We  are 
but  atoms  in  the  race.  Each  will  run  his  course 
and  die.  It  does  not  matter  who  reproduces. 
There  are  plenty  to  do  this  part  of  the  race 
function.  Let  us  enjoy  our  lives  and  make 
the  best  we  can  of  them.  It  is  a  foolish  vanity, 
this  ambition  of  his  father's  to  keep  up  the 
family  name  and  standing.  It  is  like  the  silly 
pride  of  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe,  to  leave 
plenty  of  heirs  to  the  throne,  often  so  poorly 
bred  that  the  children  of  the  peasants  are 
superior  to  them.  He  would  make  a  success  of 
himself,  of  his  business  and  of  everything  else. 
Perhaps  the  sisters  would  do  better  and  give 
Dad  all  the  grandchildren  he  would  want. 

It  was  noticeable,  however,  that  Charles  G. 
Jennings  had  changed.  He  was  no  longer  the 
gay  fellow  that  came  home  from  college.  He 
had  become  a  serious,  saddened,  driving  busi- 
ness man.  His  father,  now  left  practically 
everything  to  him.  The  old  man  spent  less  and 
less  time  at  the  office,  and  more  at  the  club 
playing  chess  with  old  Jim  and  other  cronies. 
In  time  the  daughters  married  and  gave  the 
old  man  several  grandchildren.  Still  he  could 
not  forgive  Carrie  for  being  childless.  He  said 


136  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

Charlie  is  a  better  business  man  that  he  ever 
was,  and  other  people  think  so  too. 

If  you  had  come  to  our  town  at  this  time 
you  would  have  seen  Mrs.  Charles  Gaylord 
Jennings  driving  here  and  there  on  errands  of 
mercy  and  kindness.  She  was  interested  in 
playgrounds,  kindergartens  for  the  poor,  day 
nurseries,  etc.  She  had  everything  that  money 
could  buy  to  make  her  happy.  Her  husband 
has  always  been  devoted  and  kind,  often  as 
loving  as  a  lover,  but  it  palls  on  her  some  way. 
She  had  many  secret  tears,  when  her  mother- 
hood promptings  overcome  her.  She  had  dogs 
to  be  sure.  A  prize  bull  terrier  always  rode 
with  her  in  the  car.  It  was  great  fun  washing 
and  tending  him.  He  was  such  an  intelligent 
dog. 

People  used  to  say  she  hated  babies.  She 
acted  as  if  she  could  not  bear  to  touch  one  or 
in  fact  to  see  one.  Meeting  a  mother  pushing  a 
rosy-cheeked  child  down  the  street  in  a  cab  or 
go-cart  made  her  turn  her  face  away.  The 
truth  was  she  could  hardly  suppress  her  tears. 
She  was  jealous  of  mothers  then.  She  said 
those  who  had  more  than  they  wanted  or  were 
able  to  care  for  properly  were  the  ones  that 
continued  to  bring  them  into  the  world,  but 
those  who  wanted  them  and  had  means  to  do 
well  by  children  could  not  have  any.  She  said 
an  Allwise  Providence  had  some  strange  ways 
of  adjusting  things. 


SOWING  AND  REAPING  WILD  OATS.        137 

Dr.  Xury  attended  the  girl.  She  was  an  or- 
phan, about  twenty  years  old,  bright,  healthy 
and  American  born.  When  she  left  the  or- 
phanage she  worked  as  a  waitress  at  a  hotel. 
She  was  just  the  sort  of  girl  some  ardent  fol- 
lower of  "the  light  that  lies  in  woman's  eyes" 
would  see  and  covet.  She  did  not  know  the 
world,  or  its  ways.  She  did  not  know  men  or 
their  ways.  She  had  no  mother  to  tell  her, 
and  she  obeyed  the  Cosmic  urge.  She  became 
an  illegitimate  mother. 

The  baby  was  a  fine  healthy  boy.  At  the 
hospital  Dr.  Xury  arranged  everything.  When 
it  was  three  weeks  old  the  papers  were  signed 
transferring  the  child  to  him.  He  promised  the 
mother  it  should  have  a  good  home.  She  cried 
bitterly  when  she  looked  at  the  little  face  for 
the  last  time,  still  she  could  see  no  better  way 
to  do.  She  was  but  a  plaything  in  the  hands 
of  Fate. 

That  night  Dr.  Xury  carried  the  child  away. 
He  had  provided  a  good-sized  market  basket 
with  a  cover  and  in  it  he  fixed  a  bed  of  cotton. 
On  this  he  laid  the  child,  tucking  the  little 
blanket  about  it,  with  the  nursing  bottle  at 
which  the  little  fellow  tugged  away  happily. 
On  a  card  he  wrote  in  a  disguised  hand : 

The  good  Stork  leaves  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Charles  Gaylord  Jennings  a  boy — 
three  weeks  old  to-day.  He  is  healthy, 
American  born  and  worthy  of  your 


138  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

love.     If  you  do  not  want  him,  take 
him  to  the  Board  of  Charities. 

A.  D.  T.  Special. 

It  was  Sunday  night,  rainy  and  dark.  The 
maid  was  out  for  her  half  day  off.  Carrie  was 
reading  in  the  sitting  room.  Charlie  was  visit- 
ing for  an  hour  a  newly-married  sister.  His 
wife  had  not  felt  like  going  out.  The  door 
bell  rang.  She  got  up  wondering  who  would 
call  at  such  a  time.  Upon  opening  the  door 
she  could  see  no  one  and  thought  it  strange. 
Some  boys  playing  pranks,  perhaps,  she 
thought.  Just  as  she  was  about  to  close  the 
door  she  heard  a  strange  little  noise  at  her  feet, 
and  looking  down  saw  a  basket.  It  moved  a 
little,  and  for  a  moment  she  was  frightened. 
Her  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her  fear  how- 
ever, and  she  caught  it  up  and  carried  it  into 
the  light. 

"Well,  she's  got  a  baby,"  said  Dr.  Xury  as 
he  stepped  from  behind  a  tree  and  went  to  his 
car  waiting  around  the  corner. 

Once  in  the  sitting  room,  off  came  the  cover, 
and  there  lay  the  sweetest,  cleanest  and  dear- 
est of  babies  one  ever  saw. 

"Oh,  you  precious,  darling  thing"  Carrie 
cried,  taking  it  in  her  arms.  She  read  the 
ticket  fastened  to  the  basket.  She  looked  at 
the  child  again,  then  hugging  it  to  her  bosom, 
she  could  not  keep  back  the  happy  tears. 

An  hour  later  Charles  G.  Jennings  made  his 
way  homeward  and  opened  his  door.  He  was 
startled  by  a  wife  so  radiant  and  smiling, 


SOWING  AND  REAPING  WILD  OATS.        139 

though  tears  streamed  down  her  face,  he  hardly 
knew  her. 

' '  Oh,  Charlie,  we  've  got  a  baby — a  baby !  It 
came  in  a  basket — it's  ours,  Charlie.  The  card 
says  so.  You  won't  take  it  away  from  me,  will 
you?  Nobody  shall  take  it  away.  It's  mine. 
It's  ours!"  and  -she  hugged  the  child  tightly  as 
if  in  fear  it  might  disappear  as  suddenly  as  it 
came. 

" Bless  your  heart,  Carrie,  why  didn't  you 
say  you  wanted  a  baby.  You  could  have  had 
half  a  dozen  by  this  time."  It  was  not  a  nice 
thing  for  him  to  say  just  at  that  moment,  but 
he  meant  well  enough. 

If  you  come  to  our  town  now,  you  will  see 
Mrs.  Charles  Gaylord  Jennings  driving  h^r 
husband  down  in  their  car.  A  sturdy  little 
child  sits  by  her  side  instead  of  a  dog.  Oh,  yes, 
they  have  a  dog  or  two.  Baby  Judson,  now 
over  a  year  old,  likes  to  play  with  the  pug. 

Old  Jud  sometimes  wonders  why  on  earth 
Carrie  would  rather  adopt  a  baby  than  have 
one  of  her  own.  He  just  can't  understand  her. 
Charlie  understands  her,  and  they  are  happy 
now. 

Isn't  that  Dr.  Xury  Lane  a  funny  fellow? 


Bessie  Tompkins'  Test. 


Not  far  from  the  city  of  London,  Ontario,  is 
a  little  Canadian  village,  and  not  far  from  this 
village  is  the  home  of  an  honest  Canadian 
farmer.  The  fifty  odd  acres  had  by  hard  labor 
and  prudent  economy  enabled  him  to  rear  his 
family  respectably.  Two  sons  and  three  daugh- 
ters had  come  to  bless  Jacob  Tompkins  and 
his  wife.  On  week  days  they  were  hard  at 
work,  but  Sunday  always  found  them  sitting  in 
a  healthy  red-faced  row  at  the  village  church. 
The  Tompkins  family  were  ardent  Wesleyan 
Methodists. 

As  time  went  along,  the  children  grew  older 
and  the  boys  graduated  from  the  farm,  one  as 
an  employee  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Railway,  the 
other  in  the  lumber  industries  of  the  North 
woods.  The  eldest  daughter  married  the  vil- 
lage hardware  merchant  and  started  a  little 
brood  or  her  own.  This  left  Elizabeth  and 
Mary  at  home. 

Then  Mrs.  Tompkins  died.  The  children 
comforted  the  father  as  best  they  could,  but  he 
went  about  his  tasks  a  little  more  saddened 
and  stooped.  Getting  a  living  from  the  farm 
seemed  harder  every  year.  The  horses  were 
old  and  slow.  The  fences  needed  the  attention 
of  younger  and  stronger  hands.  The  barns  and 


142  WAYSIDE  EXPEEIENCE8. 

other  buildings  forgot  that  such  a  thing  as 
paint  existed.  The  old  wagon  wheels  wabbled 
and  creaked  as  Farmer  Tompkins  turned  in  at 
his  own  gate,  having  made  his  usual  Saturday 
trip  to  the  village. 

"Here's  a  letter  for  ye,  Bessie,"  he  called 
as  he  crawled  down  from  the  wagon  at  the 
barn  door. 

The  girl  hearing  his  call,  dropped  her  work 
in  the  kitchen  and  came  skipping  toward  the 
barn.  "Oh,  good,  Daddy,"  she  cried,  as 
pleased  as  a  child.  Though  Bessie  was  nine- 
teen, she  seemed  but  a  child  still,  to  her  father. 
Taking  the  letter  she  scanned  the  address. 
"It's  from  Gertie  McDermitt.  Let's  hurry, 
Dad,  'cause  supper  is  all  ready,"  and  the  girl 
began  to  assist  with  putting  the  horses  away. 

Presently  they  carried  bundles  and  packages 
into  the  kitchen  and  sat  down  to  their  evening 
meal.  Once  Bessie  took  out  the  letter  and 
looked  at  it,  but  made  no  movement  toward 
opening  it.  The  old  man  noticed,  but  said 
nothing.  When  the  supper  was  finished,  he 
moved  his  chair  toward  the  stove  and  said, 
"Read  your  letter  now,  Bessie,  and  see  what 
she  says." 

The  girl  took  the  letter  from  the  bosom  of 
her  dress,  found  the  shears  in  the  work  basket 
by  the  window,  cut  off  the  end  of  the  envelope 
and  stood  reading.  The  old  father  smoked  his 
pipe  and  watched  her  as  she  read.  Her  face 
brightened  as  she  took  in  the  meaning  of  the 
message,  and  she  cried,  "Oh,  Dad,  Gertie's  got 


BESSIE  TOMPKINS'  TEST.  143 

me   a   good  job   in  Detroit.     Read   what   she 
says. ' ' 

"A  job,  you  say?"  her  father  commented,  as 
he  found  his  spectacles  and  adjusted  them. 
Mary  stood  with  dish  and  dishcloth,  waiting  to 
hear,  and  the  old  man  read  the  letter  aloud : 

Detroit,  Mich. 

Dear  Bessie : — I  have  found  you  a 
good  place  as  cashier  in  the  dining 
room  of  the  Star  Hotel.  I  work  in  the 
office,  as  you  know,  so  if  you  will 
come,  we  can  room  together.  It  pays 
you  $7.00  a  week  and  keep,  so  it  ain't 
so  bad.  What  they  want  is  a  good 
steady  honest  girl  and  Mr.  Drew, — 
he's  the  boss — he  favors  country  girls. 
If  you  want  it  you  must  come  at  once 
for  the  other  girl  is  leaving  Monday. 
Soon  as  you  get  this  you  send  me  a 
telegram.  That  is  what  Mr.  Drew 
says. 

Now,  Bessie,  be  sure  to  come  for 
this  is  a  good  chance  and  you  want  to 
take  it.  I'll  be  looking  for  you 
Monday. 

Your  friend,  Gertie. 

Farmer  Tompkins  folded  the  letter,  put 
away  his  spectacles  and  relighted  his  pipe. 
Mary  went  on  with  her  dishes  and  Bessie 
stared  at  the  fire.  Not  a  word  was  said. 

The  old  man  thought  of  his  dead  wife.  He 
thought  of  the  boys,  and  wondered  if  Mary 


144  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

would  soon  be  leaving  him  too.  Here  he  was 
about  at  the  end  of  the  journey.  They  had 
worked  hard  to  bring  up  their  children,  then 
just  as  they  are  old  enough  to  be  of  some  help, 
off  they  go  to  shoulder  their  own  burdens  and 
responsibilities — with  families,  care  and  duties 
of  their  own.  There  is  no  place  in  their  lives 
for  an  old  man.  He  felt  sure  his  wife  might 
have  been  with  him  yet  but  for  her  hard  work, 
trying  to  keep  the  girls  at  the  village  high 
school,  until  they  had  finished.  Still  he  could 
not  blame  Bessie  if  she  wanted  to  make  her 
own  way  in  the  world.  Most  all  the  decent 
young  men  had  gone  to  the  larger  towns  and 
cities  from  about  there,  and  the  girls  would 
have  to  follow,  he  guessed,  if  they  made  re- 
spectable marriages.  All  his  girls  were  good 
looking  and  knew  how  to  work.  How  could  it 
be  otherwise  with  the  mother  they  had? 

Through  the  smoke  from  his  pipe  he  saw 
the  face  of  his  wife,  young  and  happy  again, 
just  as  she  was  when  they  came  out  to  On- 
tario to  get  a  farm  of  their  own.  But  now 
she  was  dead,  and  he  an  old  man,  a  lonely  old 
man  without  her.  As  he  sat  there  so  silent  and 
thoughtful,  he  sighed,  and  a  tear  stole  down 
his  cheek.  Mary  saw  it  and  went  into  the  pan- 
try to  hide  her  own.  Bessie  saw  it  too,  and 
said,  "Oh,  come  now,  Dad,  I  ain't  goin'  if  you 
don't  want  me  to." 

''Well,  little  daughter,  you're  the  baby,  yet 
I  must  not  forget  you're  a  woman  grown  and 


BESSIE  TOMPKINS'  TEST.  145 

have  a  right  to  a  chance.  Do  ye  want  to  go, 
Bessie?" 

"Yes,  Dad,  I  want  to  go  and  I'll  tell  you  why. 
One's  enough  at  home  and  Mary's  goin'  to  stay 
with  you.  If  I  get  along  good,  I  can  send 
home  part  of  what  I  earn  to  help  and  besides 
I  '11  be  making  my  own  way. ' ' 

"All  right,  Bessie,  go  and  try  it.  Ye  know 
where  home  is,  and  that  ye  got  a  home  to 
come  to  if  ye  need  it." 

Then  they  sat  in  silence  and  the  old  man 
smoked.  When  the  little  old  clock  on  the  shelf 
struck  nine,  the  father  arose,  stretched  his 
arms  and  started  for  bed.  At  the  door  of  his 
room  he  paused.  "Ye  better  take  that  early 
train  in  the  mornin',  Bessie,  even  though  it 
be  Sunday.  So  get  your  things  ready." 

That  settled  it  beyond  question.  The  old 
clock  was  nearly  ready  to  strike  for  midnight 
when  the  sisters  got  to  bed.  The  trunk  had 
been  packed,  the  new  suit  laid  out  for  the  jour- 
ney and  every  detail  that  a  young  woman  con- 
siders important  had  been  attended  to.  Yet 
Bessie  could  not  sleep.  Her  mind  was  full  of 
her  coming  experience.  When  toward  morn- 
ing, she  did  surrender  to  the  demands  of  na- 
ture, she  dreamed  of  roaring  railroad  trains 
and  rushing  crowds  of  people. 

At  the  station  the  old  man  kissed  his  daugh- 
ter good  bye.  "Bessie,"  he  said,  "ye 're  goin' 
out  into  the  world  and  it's  hard.  Ye 're  good 
now  and  I  want  ye  to  stay  good.  If  trouble 
and  temptation  comes,  remember  your  mother 


146  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

and  me.  Don't  ever  come  home  if  ye  can't 
come  as  good  as  ye 're  leavin'  now.  We'll  ex- 
pect ye  every  Christmas  time  anyway  an'  if 
ye  don't  come,  I'll — I'll  know  ye  ain't  good 
any  more — so  there  ye  have  it.  Good  bye, 
Bessie." 

"Good  bye,  Dad,  I'll  be  good  and  I'll  be 
home." 

When  the  train  pulled  out,  the  girl  saw  her 
father  rumbling  down  the  road  toward  home, 
with  his  old  team  and  wagon,  his  bent  form  out- 
lined against  the  light  beyond. 

"Poor  old  Dad,  I  will  be  good,"  she  said 
to  herself. 


The  new  cashier  at  the  Star  Hotel  restaur- 
ant was  what  the  boys  on  the  road  called  "a 
good  looker."  Her  round  healthy  face  had  a 
smile  for  everybody.  Any  girl  with  good  looks 
and  a  smile  will  have  plenty  of  friends.  Bessie 
seemed  to  attract  them  without  effort.  She  had 
a  kind  of  innocent  freshness,  yet  so  intelligent 
and  keen  that  people  liked  to  know  her.  Many 
a  fat  veteran  of  the  road  would  say,,  "Keep 
the  change,  keep  the  change!"  and  Bessie  on 
seven  dollars  a  week  could  not  appreciate  the 
evils  of  tipping.  She  told  Gertie,  who  warned 
her  not  to  let  "any  of  them  guys  get  too 
fresh,"  that  she  was  going  to  be  a  good  fellow 
to  everybody;  that  she  thought  a  girl  had 
no  need  to  make  herself  a  grouch  in  self 
protection. 


BESSIE  TOMPKINS'  TEST.  147 

Often  one  or  several,  if  the  place  was 
crowded  during  the  rush  hour,  would  gather 
about  her  desk  to  chat.  Some  would  hand  her 
a  flower,  others  would  share  the  chewing  gum 
and  occasionally  a  box  of  chocolates  would  be 
slipped  through  the  window  of  her  cage. 

''Do  you  ever  get  out  of  this  cage?"  asked 
Perry  Winters.  Perry  was  a  regular  and  al- 
ways had  a  ticket  to  punch.  He  had  a  place 
of  some  kind  with  a  bank,  messenger  or  some- 
thing. Bessie  never  knew  just  what  his  posi- 
tion was,  though  he  seemed  to  have  plenty  of 
money  to  spend. 

"You  make  me  think  of  a  nice  little  canary 
bird.  Can't  you  chirp  us  a  little  tune?" 

"No,  I  am  no  canary  bird.  May  be  I  am  a 
hawk  and  I  might  scratch  your  eyes  out," 
laughed  Bessie. 


The  Holiday  time  came  and  Bessie  made  her 
first  visit  home.  The  children  and  grandchil- 
dren were  all  there.  The  old  man  sat  at  the 
head  of  the  table  and  said  the  grace.  He 
thanked  the  Lord  for  his  children.  He  prayed 
they  might  all  be  spared  to  meet  around  that 
family  table  another  year.  "Keep  us,"  he 
prayed,  "  as  it  were,  in  the  hollow  of  Thy  hand, 
and  if  so  be  Thy  will  any  of  us  are  called  to  go, 
make  us  ready  to  meet  those  waitin'  on  the 
other  side." 

It  all  seemed  so  sad  and  morbid — all  the 
time  thinking  and  talking  about  death.  She 
wondered  why  old  people  have  to  bring  in  this 


148  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

subject  on  every  occasion.  She  only  stayed 
two  days  at  home.  It  seemed  rather  dull  and 
small.  It  was  good  to  be  back  again  in  her 
cage  at  the  restaurant.  At  parting  with  her 
father,  she  said,  "111  be  home  this  Summer, 
Dad,  and  next  Christmas  too.  I'm  still  good 
and  you  need  not  worry,  Dad." 


Winter  passed  and  the  Summer  came.  De- 
troit in  Summer  is  always  happy.  There  is  so 
much  to  do  and  to  see  and  so  many  places  to 
go.  The  girls  at  the  Star  Hotel  were  at  liberty 
at  eight  o  'clock  in  the  evening  and  Bessie  often 
joined  Gertie  and  others  for  their  outings. 
There  was  dancing  at  Belle  Isle  Park,  and  at 
the  Amusement  Parks  up  and  down  the  river. 
Summer  garden  theatres  and  many  other  so- 
called  places  of  innocent  amusement  received 
their  attention.  Sometimes  they  went  with 
young  men  by  appointment.  Other  times  the 
girls  went  alone,  depending  upon  "catching 
fellers"  for  dancing  partners.  Bessie  did  not 
quite  approve  of  this  plan,  but  the  other  girls 
seemed  to  think  it  was  all  right,  so  she  made 
no  protest.  She  could  not  stay  cooped  up  in 
"that  stuffy  old  hotel"  all  day  and  all  night. 

At  first  she  had  been  sending  home  fifteen 
dollars  a  month  from  her  wages,  but  as  Summer 
came  along  she  seemed  to  need  so  many  new 
things  to  "look  decent" — and  seven  dollars 
a  week  does  not  go  very  far — that  the  monthly 
home  lift  did  not  go.  At  the  parks  and  thea- 
tres, she  saw  other  women  and  observed  their 


BESSIE  TOMPKINS'  TEST.  149 

hats,  jewelry  and  dresses.  She  often  sighed 
and  wished  she  were  rich  instead  of  just  a 
seven  dollar  a  week  restaurant  cashier. 

"Say,  kid,"  said  Perry  Winters,  one  day. 
We're  getting  up  a  little  auto  party  for  Sun- 
day night.  There'll  be  three  couples  and  I 
want  you  to  go  with  me.  You'll  be  off  Sunday 
afternoon,  so  we  can  start  early.  We  will  run 
out  around  Mt.  Clemens,  and  stop  at  Wesley's 
Road  House  for  supper  and  get  home  by  eleven 
or  twelve.  Gertie's  going  with  Bob,  then 
there's  Bill  Smith  and  his  girl.  What  do  you 
say,  Bessie?" 

"I'll  think  it  over,  Perry  and  let  you  know 
tomorrow.  Very  nice  of  you  to  ask  me,"  and 
Bessie  reached  for  the  next  ticket  to  punch. 

She  talked  with  Gertie  about  the  trip,  and 
was  urged  to  accept.  She  had  seen  Billy 
Smith  with  Bob  and  Perry  but  had  never  liked 
his  manner  or  looks  very  well.  However,  they 
would,  go.  Girls  on  seven  dollars  a  week  can't 
afford  to  be  too  particular,  if  they  want  to  have 
any  good  times  at  all. 

The  merry  party  in  the  big  touring  car 
started  early.  The  machine  went  purring 
along  the  smooth  roads.  It  was  an  ideal  June 
afternoon.  As  they  spun  along  the  North  Riv- 
er road,  the  setting  sun  glinted  across  the  water 
of  some  inlet  here  and  there  as  they  passed. 
On  the  other  side  they  caught  glimpses  of  the 
big  steamers  going  or  coming,  with  the  black 
smoke  trailing  out  behind,  sharply  outlined 
against  the  blue  of  the  water  and  the  sky. 


150  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"That's  St.  Clair  Flats  off  up  there,"  said 
Perry.  "We'll  take  that  in  some  time  this  Sum- 
mer, Bess,"  and  Perry  seemed  settled  in  the 
intention  of  making  himself  a  permanent  escort 
for  the  pretty  cashier.  The  young  man  was 
driving  the  car  with  skill  and  caution.  As 
he  brought  the  big  machine  whirling  along  its 
way,  the  girl  could  not  help  feeling  a  thrill  of 
admiration  as  she  sat  by  his  side.  "What  a 
grand  world  it  is, ' '  she  thought.  * '  Oh,  why  are 
so  many  of  us  poor,  and  why  so  few  to  have 
all  the  good  things?"  She  thought  of  her 
father  and  his  wobbly  old  wagon.  She  asked 
herself,  What's  the  use?  What's  the  gain? 
People  that  have  things  are  the  ones  who  go  on 
and  get  them.  There  is  no  virtue  in  rusting 
out  in  some  isolated  corner  of  the  world, 
thinking  you  are  worthy  and  godly.  For  her 
part,  she  wanted  to  be  among  those  who  know 
things  and  do  things — not  the  humdrum,  tasks, 
but  the  things  of  an  interesting  life  of  change 
and  variety.  Even  the  thrill  of  danger  and  the 
risk  of  disaster  made  it  worth  while. 

She  saw  her  philosophy  of  life  that  day  in 
the  way  Perry  handled  the  car.  She  saw  that 
their  very  speed  had  in  it  the  elements  of 
safety.  She  had  heard  someone  say  it  was  the 
cautious  drivers  that  had  all  the  accidents. 
Once  as  they  spun  along  they  took  a  railroad 
crossing  with  but  a  second  or  two  margin. 
The  fireman  on  the  locomotive  put  his  head 
out  the  cab  window  and  yelled  something  that 
Perry  said  sounded  like  calling  them  damn 


BESSIE  TOMPKINS'  TEST.  151 

fools.  "A  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile,"  he 
quoted. 

Then  Billy  Smith  added,  "The  man  who 
hesitates  is  lost — when  driving  a  car  or  making 
love  to  a  girl!" 

"Just  the  same,  please  don't  take  any  more 
such  risks  again,"  urged  Bessie. 

"All  right,  kid,  you're  it,"  the  young  man 
replied. 

They  reached  the  road  house  about  eight 
o'clock,  and,  though  they  had  telephoned  ahead 
for  a  private  dining  room,  they  had  some  time 
to  wait  before  the  dinner  was  served.  The 
girls  retired  to  the  dressing  room,  to  adjust 
themselves,  while  the  boys  smoked  under  the 
wide  piazza  that  surrounded  the  big  place. 
Bessie  finished  her  hair  and  started  to  join  the 
boys  outside  before  the  other  girls  were  ready. 
As  she  came  around  the  corner  she  saw  the 
three  heads  close  together  in  the  shadow,  and 
she  drew  back  a  moment  to  listen.  They  whis- 
pered too  low  for  her  to  hear,  but  she  was  sure 
Billy  Smith  said  something  about  the  "K.D." 
but  just  then  the  other  girls  came. 

"Here's  Bessie  eavesdropping,"  said  Gertie. 

"Yes,  I  heard  Mr.  Smith  say  something  about 
K.D.  What  is  K.  D.  Billy?" 

Each  young  man  looked  at  the  other,  and 
wondered  what  reply  to  make.  Billy  Smith 
came  to  the  rescue.  "Why  that  is  our  way  of 
speaking  of  the  Independent  Order  of  the 
Knights  of  Darkness,"  laughed  Billy.  "We 
were  planning  to  initiate  a  bunch  of  new  mem- 


152  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

bers."  Then  they  all  laughed  loudly  as  they 
gathered  about  the  table. 

For  a  moment  the  incident  made  Bessie  quiet 
and  thoughtful,  but  the  dinner  was  served  so 
nicely  and  so  well  cooked,  that  she  soon  en- 
tered into  the  spirit  of  the  merry  party.  They 
told  stories,  and  recited  toasts,  some  a  little 
suggestive  and  a  bit  off  color,  but  decidedly 
funny.  Perry  was  a  perfect  mimic  and  a  good 
actor.  They  had  a  song  or  two  from  the  boys, 
some  bits  of  parody  nicely  fixed  to  serve  for 
the  occasion.  It  was  a  jolly  party. 

When  the  wine  came  on  Bessie  hardly  knew 
what  to  do.  She  had  never  tasted  wine  in  her 
life.  She  sipped  a  little  but  did  not  like  the 
taste  of  it.  The  others  filled  again,  and  the 
boys  urged  her  to  "Come  on  and  be  a  good 
sport. "  The  girl  wished  she  was  in  her  little 
room  at  the  hotel.  She  managed,  however,  to 
get  down  about  half  her  glass,  after  repeated 
sips. 

By  and  by,  when  the  dinner  was  finished, 
Billy  Smith,  who  claimed  the  honor  of  being 
chairman  of  the  house,  arose  and  said,  "Now, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  Captain  of  the  Mystic 
Crew  orders  each  gentleman  to  escort  his  lady 
through  the  labyrinth  of  the  Castle  of  Wonders 
and  to  show  her  all  the  secret  passages,  haunted 
chambers,  also  the  relics  of  past  ages.  The 
Dragon  is  chained  in  No.  13,  but  beware  of  his 
fiery  breath.  Noble  Knights,  advance !  ' ' 

At  this  the  young  folks  arose  and  the  cur- 
tains pulled  aside,  revealed  a  long  hall  with 


BESSIE  TOMPKINS'  TEST.  153 

many  colored  lights,  dim  and  weird,  the  effect 
of  which  was  emphasized  by  mirrors  cunning- 
ly set.  At  the  doorway  marked  ' '  No.  13 ' '  they 
paused  to  look  in.  There  they  saw,  coming,  as 
it  appeared,  from  the  mouth  of  a  great  cave 
a  monster  green  dragon.  Its  eyes  blinked  fire, 
and  the  hideous  mouth  hissed  flame — or  seemed 
to — the  whole  scene  illuminated  by  lights  so 
dim  that  shadows  danced  and  flickered  to  con- 
fuse and  startle  the  beholder.  The  girls 
screamed  a  little. 

"Silence,"  said  Billy.  "The  Imps  of  Dark- 
ness demand  silence." 

So  they  went  on  from  one  surprise  to  an- 
other. They  saw  devils  dancing  in  the  fire. 
They  looked  upon  a  naked  Eve  holding  an  ani- 
mated conversation  with  the  Serpent.  They 
met  Cupid  and  Psyche  glowing  in  shocking 
nudity.  They  saw  also  the  Centaurs  of  the 
wood,  making  love.  There  were  many  speci- 
mens of  fine  art,  exhibited  for  art's  sake,  but 
the  city  police  department  had  no  jurisdiction. 
The  road  house  was  outside  the  limits. 

Bessie  never  remembered  all  she  saw. 
Things  began  to  get  hazy  before  long  and  she 
said,  "Oh,  Perry,  I'm  feeling  funny.  I  believe 
I'm — I'm  going  to  faint." 

Perry  helped  her  into  a  little  room  off  the 
"Mysterious  Castle  of  Wonders,"  and  laid 
her  on  a  couch.  The  other  two  couples  had 
disappeared. 

"Perry  bring  me  something — a  dish — a  pail 
— anything,"  cried  the  girl  holding  her  hand- 


154  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

kerchief  over  her  mouth.  In  an  alcove  stood 
a  bed  and  near  it  a  stand  with  a  wash  bowl  and 
pitcher.  Perry  brought  the  wash  bowl. 

"Oh,  Perry,  I'm  so  ashamed,"  she  finally 
gasped. 

"It's  a  shame  to  lose  all  that  good  dinner," 
Perry  commented. 

"I'm  so  sick,  Perry,  take  me  home." 

"You'll  feel  better  presently,  kid.  We  can't 
go  till  the  others  are  ready." 

Bessie  lay  there  on  the  couch  thinking.  She 
began  to  understand.  She  trembled  a  little  as 
she  wondered  what  was  best  to  do.  She  knew 
the  wine  had  been  drugged  and  she  felt  sure 
she  knew  for  what  purpose. 

"If  you  don't  mind  I'll  shut  my  eyes  a  lit- 
tle," she  said  with  a  wan  smile.  Perry  sat  in 
a  chair  by  her  side  holding  her  hand.  He  was 
a  bit  frightened.  The  K.D.  had  not  worked 
just  as  Billy  said  it  would.  By  and  by  the  girl 
began  to  talk  as  if  in  a  dream. 

"Yes,  Dad — I'm  home  again — I'm  still  a 
good  girl  too,  Dad.  You  said — you  said  I  could 
not  come  home  if  I  did  not  stay  good.  It  was 
hard — hard — just  as  you  said  it  would  be,  Dad 
— hard  for  poor  girls.  They  take  us — take  us 
for  a  good  time — they  don't  call  it  a  good  time 
— except — except  to  make  us  bad.  Oh,  Dad, 
I  want  to  stay  home  now — it's  work — work, 
anyway  for  poor  folks,  no  matter  where  you 
are.  Don't  let  me  go  back,  Dad,  'cause  I'm 
good  now.  Don't  Dad,  don't — don't — don't!" 


BESSIE  TOMPKINS'  TEST.  155 

Perry  was  shaking  her  by  the  shoulders.  He 
had  sent  for  a  glass  of  milk.  "Here  wake  up, 
Bessie  and  drink  this.  Don't  you  worry  no- 
body's going  to  hurt  you.  You'll  be  all  right 
soon." 

After  an  hour  or  so,  they  went  out  on  the 
piazza.  There  Perry  talked.  The  girl  had  but 
little  to  say.  Presently  the  others  joined  them. 
The  two  girls  staggered  a  little,  but  somehow 
they  were  bundled  into  the  car  and  away  the 
party  went  for  the  city.  It  was  almost  morn- 
ing when  they  arrived. 

"You  can  tell  the  Boss,  we  got  stalled,  and 
could  not  get  here  sooner,"  said  Billy  Smith 
as  they  parted. 

Bessie  was  at  her  post  as  usual,  but  her  smile 
was  wanting.  Gertie  did  not  appear,  sending 
word  that  she  had  a  bad  headache. 


"Hello,  Perry,  how  are  the  Knights  of  Dark- 
ness?" This  was  Billy  Smith's  greeting  when 
the  boys  met  next  day. 

"I'm  sorry  we  tried  that  game  on  those  girls. 
Bessie  is  a  good  straight  girl.  I'm  done  with 
that  sort  of  thing,  Billy,"  said  Perry. 

"Oh,  hell,  what  do  those  hashers  expect? 
Do  they  think  we  blow  our  money  on  biscuit 
shooters  for  nothing?" 

"Well,  count  me  out,  I  say.  I've  learned  a 
lesson — I've  had  enough,"  and  Perry  looked 
his  friend  squarely  in  the  eye. 

"You  must  be  hard  hit,  Perry,  eh?  Maybe 
we'll  be  getting  an  invite  to  a  wedding." 


156  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"I  could  do  worse  than  to  marry  Bessie 
Tompkins,  I  can  tell  you  that,"  and  Perry 
turned  on  his  heel  to  walk  away. 


The  Summer  wore  away  and  the  girl  in  the 
cashier's  cage  at  the  Star  Hotel  restaurant  was 
moulting  her  illusions.  Of  all  those  who  had 
sought  her  friendship  was  there  one  .she  could 
trust  and  depend  upon?  What  did  it  all 
amount  to?  Week  in  and  week  out,  the  same 
routine.  She  had  used  her  salary  to  buy  what 
she  thought  she  needed.  She  could  then  go  the 
rounds  and  wear  out  the  things  she  had 
bought  and  after  that  repeat  the  process.  She 
thought  of  the  folks  at  home — the  same  dreary 
outlook  faced  her  there.  What  did  life  amount 
to  anyway,  especially  for  poor  people?  She 
wondered  if  there  were  any  really  happy  per- 
sons in  the  world.  She  read  in  the  paper  one 
day  about  a  poor  girl  who  had  thrown  her- 
self into  the  river  and  found  a  watery  grave 
and  peace.  She  did  not  blame  the  girl.  She 
even  wished  she  had  the  courage  to  do  the 
same  thing  herself.  Bessie  Tompkins  surely 
had  the  blues. 

Perry  tried  to  be  friendly;  hoped  she  felt 
none  the  worse  for  their  trip;  sorry  it  had 
turned  out  as  it  did.  "You  know,  kid,"  he 
said,  getting  confidential,  "I  am  through  with 
that  bunch.  I'm  going  to  do  what  you'd  like 
to  have  me,  Bessie — I  mean  it." 

Bessie  only  smiled.  There  were  more  tickets 
to  punch  just  then,  and  Perry  passed  out. 


BESSIE  TOMPKINS'  TEST.  157 

"Mr.  Drew,"  said  Bessie  one  day,  "I've  been 
here  a  year  now  and  I  guess  I'll  go  home. 
There  is  nothing  in  it.  What's  seven  dollars  a 
week  and  meals,  also  a  little  room  to  sleep  in? 
It's  a  living,  yes,  but  we  can  get  that  out  on 
the  farm.  It  gets  on  my  nerves  to  be  poor  in 
a  city.  I  don't  mind  it  out  there.  You  can  find 
plenty  to  take  my  place.  I  think  I'll  go 
home. ' ' 

"What's  wrong,  Miss  Tompkins?  Hitting 
me  for  a  raise?  Well,  I'll  make  it  ten  dollars 
a  week,  if  you'll  stay.  You  suit  me  and  I'd 
rather  not  change.  What  do  you  say?" 

"No,  I  am  not  bluffing  you  for  more  money. 
Ten  dollars  is  better  than  seven — just  three 
dollars  better  in  fact,  three  dollars  to  spend  or 
save.  In  about  a  thousand  years  I  could  save 
enough  to  count.  Inside  a  thousand  years,  I'll 
be  dead.  No,  I'm  blue  and  homesick.  Let  me 
go  home  to  my  Dad." 

"All  right  girl,  take  a  vacation  anyway. 
Maybe  you  will  be  ready  to  come  back  after 
you've  been  there  a  month.  I  used  to  feel 
that  way  myself,  but  I  got  over  it.  I'll  hold 
your  place  for  you." 

So  Bessie  packed  her  trunk  again.  "What 
have  I  to  show  for  my  year's  work?"  she 
asked  herself.  "Well,  here's  four  pair  of  silk 
stockings  somewhat  worn — need  darning  at  the 
heels — two  pair  of  high  heeled  shoes,  a  little 
lop-sided,  one  voile  skirt  and  one  picture  hat, 
also  a  small  bundle  of  unpleasant  memories, 
and  a  list  of  risky  experiences  wherein  I  came 


158  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

near  compromising  myself.  I  have  also  a  well 
established  bump  of  discontent  in  my  head. 
Maybe  life  is  worth  more  treading  the  pave- 
ments, but  just  now  I'd  rather  go  up  in  the  cow 
pasture  and  sit  under  a  tree.  I've  tasted  of 
life,  yes,  I've  had  several  proposals,  one  for 
marriage — the  others  for  something  else — I'm 
highly  honored  and  highly  favored,  still  I've 
got  a  bad  taste  in  my  mouth.  I'm  going  home 
to  Dad,  while  I  can,  for  I'm  still  good.  I'm  go- 
ing back  where  robins  build  nests  and  folks 
can  be  trusted  because  they're  honest.  I'd 
rather  be  the  wife  of  a  good  clod-hopper,  than 
the  legal  doll  of  a  swell  rascal.  Yes,  Dad,  I'm 
coming.  I  had  a  letter  today  from  John." 

Bessie's  soliloquy  was  interrupted  here  we 
regret  to  say  for  she  had  more  practical 
thoughts  coming.  It  was  Mr.  Drew.  He  paid 
her  the  last  week's  salary  and  added  fifty  dol- 
lars "as  a  slight  token  for  a  year  of  faithful 
and  honest  service,"  he  said. 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  not  a  bait  to  have  me 
come  back,  Mr.  Drew?"  Bessie  asked. 


Near  the  city  of  London,  Ontario,  is  a  little 
Canadian  village,  and  not  far  from  this  village 
is  the  home  of  an  honest  Canadian  farmer.  An 
old  man  sits  by  the  fire  smoking  his  pipe.  He 
don't  work  any  more  now — he's  too  old — and 
Mrs.  Parkins — that's  Bessie — says  Dad  don't 
need  to  work.  John  Parkins  says  so  too  and 
what  John  says,  goes. 


BESSIE  TOMPKINS'  TEST.  159 

Bessie  also  says  Dad's  lots  of  help  tending 
the  baby.  The  old  man  smiles  when  people  call 
John  a  good  farmer — don't  the  old  place,  the 
new  house  and  the  barns  all  fixed  over  and 
painted  red,  show  it?  The  old  man  still  calls 
his  Bessie  a  good  girl  and  insists  that  the  baby 
looks  just  as  she  used  to. 

The  little  old  clock  on  the  shelf  strikes 
seven,  and  Mary  has  just  finished  the  dishes. 


The  Biophoretic  Healer. 

PARIS,  April  9. — "My  discovery,  myco- 
lysine,  which  I  am.  confident  will  greatly 
prolong  human  life  and  revolutionize  the 
practice  of  medicine,  is  available  to  duly 
authenticated  American  physicians  for 
test  and  experiment  if  they  apply  to  me 
through  the  American  Embassy. ' ' 

In  these  words  Dr.  Eugene  Louis  Doyen, 
a  famous  physician  and  surgeon  outlined 
the  manner  in  which  physicians  in  Amer- 
ica can  test  for  themselves  the  substanti- 
ality of  the  claims  Dr.  Doyen  made  for 
his  new  *  *  elixir  of  life "  in  a  paper  he  read 
before  the  medical  congress  at  Monaco  re- 
cently.— Newspaper  Clipping. 

The  old  Chase  residence  had  been  long  va- 
cant. Standing  as  it  did  facing  a  busy 
thoroughfare  in  one  of  the  older  residence  dis- 
tricts, people  wondered  at  its  continued  un- 
occupancy.  Perhaps  its  very  massiveness,  its 
colonial  grandeur  both  of  interior  and  exterior, 
made  it  quite  out  of  harmony  with  the  average 
tenants'  needs  and  requirements.  To  one  en- 
tering its  wide  doorway,  the  walls  seemed  to 
moan  out  a  sad  history  of  past  owners — families 
scattered  and  lost  in  the  whirlpools  of  modern 
life,  or  perchance  dead  and  sleeping  in  the 
peace  of  the  grave.  A  cold  and  tomblike  at- 


1«2  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

mosphere  filled  the  stately  halls,  and  one  might 
fancy  admonitions  of  " Silence"  would  meet 
him  at  every  turn.  A  prospective  tenant  usu- 
ally went  away  with  a  peculiar  shiver  creeping 
over  the  spine.  Though  suave  agents  talked 
glowingly  of  the  possibilities  of  the  place,  for 
some  reason  the  Chase  place  long  remained 
tenantless. 

The  surprise  and  evident  curiosity  of  the 
neighborhood  can  be  well  imagined,  when 
workmen  of  every  craft  appeared,  and  with 
energy  and  dispatch,  remodeled,  renewed  and 
refitted  the  whole  premises,  changing  in  sur- 
prisingly short  order  the  neglected  aspect  of 
the  place.  Presently  also,  vans  came  bringing 
furniture  and  fittings  and  the  whole  place  as- 
sumed an  air  of  brisk  activity. 

Adjacent  window  hangings  carefully  screen- 
ed many  curious  onlookers,  who  saw  a  stout 
little  man  of  foreign  type,  everywhere  manifest 
as  the  authority  in  the  work  at  hand.  Who 
the  newcomers  were  still  remained  a  mystery. 

Not  that  people,  as  a  rule  in  large  cities,  care 
to  know  their  neighbors,  yet  who  could  make 
use  of  the  old  Chase  property,  was  a  question 
of  some  moment,  especially  to  the  ladies  of  the 
vicinity.  Within  a  day  or  two  a  sign  appeared 
before  the  gate,  gold  lettered  and  hung  with 
grotesque  iron  fittings.  It  read: 


DR.  A.  SCHMOLDT 
Biophoretic   Healer. 


THE  BIOPHORETIC  HEALER.  163 

A  liveried  footman  paced  up  and  down  the 
walk  or  loitered  in  the  entryway,  ready  to  wait 
upon  actual  or  prospective  callers.  True  he 
had  little  to  do  at  first,  but  as  an  advertisement 
he  served  a  good  purpose,  and  there  came  a 
time  when  he  was  a  very  busy  man. 

People  saw  and  wondered.  They  saw  first, 
then  they  came  and  last  were  conquered,  dis- 
turbing the  ancient  order  of  the  Roman's  mes- 
sage. Many  consulted  their  dictionaries  to 
determine  the  nature  of  this  new  healing  art. 
Light  on  "Biophoretie"  healing  was  hard  to 
find,  but  most  concluded  it  meant  something 
good — appearances  so  indicated  at  least. 

Curiosity  is  said  to  be  a  leading  trait  of  the 
feminine  mind,  and  curiosity  was  working  in 
behalf  of  Dr.  A.  Schmoldt.  In  a  few  days  it 
had  something  tangible  to  work  upon  in  the 
shape  of  beautifully  engraved  invitations  to 
attend  "my  Thursday  afternoon  lectures  on 
Health".  With  the  invitation  was  enclosed 
a  neatly  printed  circular  entitled:  "Biophor- 
etic  Healing. ' '  It  was  this  circular  that  did  the 
business. 

This  circular  said  in  part,  ''Death  is  unnatu- 
ral and  unnecessary"  which  was  a  startling 
statement.  Nearly  everybody  expects  to  die 
sooner  or  later,  hence  to  be  told  that  it  is  both 
unnatural  and  unnecessary,  could  not  fail  to 
stimulate  our  interest.  Of  all  the  unnecessary 
things  we  do,  dying  is  the  least  attractive. 

"Death  did  not  belong  in  the  original  plan 
of  the  Creator — it  was  acquired  by  the  race. 


164  WAYSIDE  EXPEKIENCES. 

We  have  still  forms  of  life  in  our  tropical  seas 
that  never  die ;  that  still  retain  the  original  life 
power,"  continued  the  circular.  Mrs.  Leopold 
DeVinne  asked  old  Dr.  Blake  if  this  was  true, 
He  so  assured  her — Blake  knew,  for  he  is  pro- 
fessor of  biology  at  the  university  and  he  ex- 
plained about  the  oemeba,  etc. 

"The  human  body  today  contains  remnants 
of  the  original  immortal  cells — the  true  Germ 
cells.  We  have  to  die  because  the  somatic  cell 
or  body  cell  predominates.  This  predomina- 
tion increases  connective  tissue.  The  office 
of  the  biophors  is  to  feed  the  germ  cells,  but 
so  long  as  the  somatic  type  holds  sway,  this 
vital  food  cannot  be  produced  in  the  body.  If 
enough  biophors  are  produced  to  regenerate 
the  race  through  the  process  of  reproduction, 
and  continue  from  one  generation  to  another, 
Nature  has  done  her  best.  There  is,  however, 
a  constantly  declining  power  as  is  evidenced 
by  the  increase  of  disease  and  a  gradual  short- 
ening of  the  average  life  period.  Do  not  be 
deceived  by  reports  to  the  contrary,  the  race 
is  growing  shorter  lived  every  century. 

"Now  science  steps  forward  to  do  for  the 
race  what  nature  cannot.  Science  has  analy- 
zed the  biophor  and  reproduced  it.  This  vital 
food  substance  is  now  administered  in  an  as- 
similatable  form.  It  dissolves  the  excessive 
connective  tissue  elements  of  the  body,  and 
slowly  but  surely  restores  health  and  youth. 
Eventually  it  will  bring  the  race,  if  accepted 
and  used,  to  a  condition  not  unlike  that  of  the 


THE  BIOPHORETIC  HEALER.  165 

primitive  man,  fresh  from  the  hand  of  his 
Maker.  Life  will  be  thus  almost  indefinitely 
lengthened  and  if  administered  in  the  earliest 
years  an  Earthly  immortality  is  not  unreason- 
able to  expect  nor  is  it  unattainable."  This 
and  much  more  the  circular  said. 

''How  grand!  How  wonderful!"  was  the 
exclamation  of  many  a  fair  reader,  some  of 
whom  felt  the  weight  of  years  and  avoirdupois 
also.  Mrs.  DeVinne  read  the  circular  several 
times.  She  was  much  interested  and  wondered 
if  by  this  treatment  she  could  rid  herself  of 
about  one  hundred  pounds  of  excess  flesh. 

Dr.  Schmoldt's  advertising  made  plain  that 
the  seats  for  the  Thursday  afternoon  lectures 
could  be  secured  only  by  appointment  and 
would  be  limited  strictly  to  forty.  Not  a  mor- 
tal above  this  number  would  be  admitted. 
Names  of  patronesses  for  assigned  seats  were 
given  and  it  was  soon  evident  that  great  ex- 
clusiveness  would  characterize  Dr.  Schmoldt's 
service.  While  it  did  not  say  so,  it  carried 
the  impression  that  only  people  of  wealth  need 
apply. 

Those  attending  one  lecture  soon  spread  the 
good  news  and  admission  tickets  were  eagerly 
sought  for.  Offering  to  a  needy  and  a  dying 
race,  as  did  this  learned  doctor,  a  means  of  re- 
gaining youth  and  health,  perhaps  beauty 
along  with  it,  pointing  out  the  way  without 
charge,  was  surely  a  commendable  thing.  Of- 
fering also,  his  medical  skill  to  those  who  chose 
to  employ  it,  at  reasonable  fees,  which  might 


166  WAYSIDE  EXPEElENCES. 

give  him  some  slight  return  for  the  many  years 
of  plodding  labor  in  the  great  laboratories  of 
Europe,  could  not  be  criticised.  He  surely  de- 
served some  consideration  for  all  this  effort, 
which  led  up  to  the  discovery  of  the  artificial 
biophor,  the  greatest  scientific  achievement  of 
the  age ! 

It  was  along  this  line  the  doctor  spoke  at 
the  close  of  his  opening  lecture,  using  a  marked 
German  adaptation  of  the  English,  and  effec- 
tive withal.  He  seemed  to  have  forty  enchant- 
ed listeners,  mostly  ladies,  though  here  and 
there  could  be  seen  an  anemic  coupon  cutter. 
He  especially  mentioned  his  morning  and  after- 
noon office  hours,  should  any  one  care  to  con- 
sult him.  At  the  close  of  the  lecture  uniformed 
pages  handed  out  more  circulars  with  titles 
such  as  "True  Selfhood,"  "Health  and  Will 
Power/'  "Mind  and  Disease,"  "The  True 
Story  of  the  Biophoretic  Elixir,"  etc. 

Dr.  Schmoldt  and  his  "Biophoretic  Elixir" 
became  the  object  of  much  talk  in  many  homes. 
The  healer  was  discussed  in  many  clubs  and 
circles.  True  testimony  in  favor  of  his  powers 
was  still  wanting,  but  none  could  say  aught 
against  his  claims.  Prof.  Blake  with  his  pat- 
ronizing smile  said,  theoretically  it  was  all 
scientific. 

In  time  ladies,  now  one,  now  two,  here  and 
there  confessed  to  be  taking  or  to  have  been 
taking  treatments  from  the  new  healer.  They 
were  given,  they  said  "very  beautiful  medi- 
cine", also  certain  massage,  baths  and  elec- 


THE  BIOPHORETIC  HEALER.  167 

trical  treatment  at  the  healer's  parlors.  This 
treatment  was  necessary  they  were  told,  to  se- 
cure an  equal  distribution  of  the  great  Elixir 
throughout  the  tissues.  This  was  what  the 
good  doctor  said  at  least.  It  was  "woefully 
expensive",  yet  few  regretted  the  price,  es- 
pecially if  it  brought  results.  However,  the 
attention  was  perfect  and  everything  so  ele- 
gant. 

One  lady  confessed  she  felt  ten  years  younger 
after  one  month's  treatment.  Another  had  been 
reduced  twenty  pounds  in  weight  in  an  equal 
time.  Thus  it  came  about  that  the  footman 
before  Dr.  Schmoldt  's  door  became  a  very  busy 
man. 

In  the  midst  of  this  era  of  prosperity  let  us 
meet  personally  the  now  renowned,  locally  at 
least,  Dr.  Aaron  Schmoldt.  A  German  of  the 
typical  cast,  fifty  odd  years  of  age,  short  and 
stout,  but  with  the  glow  of  youth  on  his  cheek, 
which  he  said  was  due  to  the  use  of  biophors, 
but  we  have  seen  other  healthy  German  citi- 
zens who  never  heard  of  the  "Elixir  of  Life." 
Trained  in  one  of  the  great  universities  of  his 
fatherland  as  a  chemist,  he  was  a  doctor  all 
right  but  not  of  medicine.  His  degree  was 
that  of  doctor  of  pharmacy.  Since  leaving  col- 
lege he  had  spent  his  spare  time  and  spare 
money  in  chemical  experiments.  He  was  one 
of  many  about  to  make  a  great  discovery. 
With  the  usual  fortitude  of  his  race  he  had 
seen  himself  growing  old  with  nothing  achiev- 
ed. He  had  dwelt  upon  the  problem  of  pre- 


168  WAYSIDE  EXPEEIENCES. 

venting  the  increase  of  connective  tissue  in  the 
human  body.  Failure  had  always  met  him 
more  than  half  way.  He  thought  of  Schale, 
Hoppe-Seyler  and  the  many  martyrs  of  science 
and  toiled  on.  Poverty  came  close  and  made 
him  taste  of  the  bitterness  of  life. 

At  last  he  learned  from  others  with  whom 
he  came  into  professional  contact,  how  easy  it 
was  to  separate  the  rich  Americans  from  their 
money.  He  knew  of  Prof.  Lorenz  and  heard 
of  the  fabulous  fees  a  certain  beef  packer  had 
paid  him.  He  too,  would  go  to  America  and 
have  a  hand  in  this  money  getting  game.  The 
remaining  part  of  the  story  of  his  evolution 
need  not  be  told.  A  few  months  as  a  prescrip- 
tion clerk  in  a  drug  store,  with  study  of  Eng- 
lish, a  prudent  saving  of  wages  to  add  to  his 
former  capital  and  we  have  brought  the  story 
to  his  advent  as  a  healer. 

Now  a  swelling  bank  account,  a  growing  pat- 
ronage, and  a  clear  sky  for  the  future  put  our 
scientific  devotee  in  a  very  good  frame  of  mind. 
The  office  girl  claimed  she  heard  him  humming 
an  old  Germon  love  song,  but  however  that  may 
be  he  was  very  pleasant  and  very  gracious. 

He  had  a  laboratory  and  visitors  were  often 
shown  into  this  sanctum  sanctorum  where  the 
great  Elixir  was  made,  and  the  experiments 
carried  on  to  test  its  power.  We  must  not  mis- 
judge the  good  man  for  he  really  expected 
some  day  to  discover  the  real  biophor.  He 
often  worked  on  his  experiments  into  the  late 
hours  of  night.  We  might  think  it  worth 


THE  BIOPHORETIC   HEALER.  169 

while  to  criticise  him  for  premature  claims,  but 
other  doctors  have  been  likewise  guilty.  Dr. 
Schmoldt  had  one  good  excuse — he  needed  the 
money.  He  would  lay  tribute  on  those  who 
had  plenty,  and  using  it  for  such  a  worthy  end 
as  original  pharmacological  research  would 
more  than  offset  the  question  of  "taint/' 
" Tainted  money"  is  no  uncommon  thing  in 
America. 

Sometimes  he  indulged  in  speculation  as  to 
what  would  happen  if  he  really  did  discover  a 
connective  tissue  solvent.  He  wondered  what 
fees  he  might  collect  for  restoring  such  stiffen- 
ed up  old  politicians  as  the  Hon.  Joseph  Can- 
non to  the  full  elasticity  of  youth.  He  felt 
sure  a  certain  John  D.  Rockefeller  would  give 
at  least  a  million  to  be  made  young  again. 
What  a  field  the  ex-actress  stars  would  make! 
How  cheerfully  the  great  bankers  would  part 
with  their  coin  to  feel  again  the  thrills  of  boy- 
hood. He  would  not  hesitate  to  be  young  again 
himself.  Memories  of  youth  came  crowding 
into  his  mind,  memories  of  a  sweetheart  he  had 
lost  because  too  poor  to  marry.  Ah,  it  would 
be  a  glorious  achievement! 

From  such  pleasant  thoughts  as  these  Dr. 
Schmoldt  was  summoned  one  day  to  one  of  the 
treatment  rooms  where  the  ponderous  bulk  of 
Mrs.  Leopold  DeVinne  lay  upon  the  treatment 
table.  She  was  in  a  bad  humor  evidently. 
Several  months  of  the  treatment  had  not  re- 
duced her  weight  an  ounce.  She  had  ordered 
the  lady  attendant  to  call  the  doctor. 


170  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"Vel,  vat  is  et?" 

"Dr.  Schmoldt,"  she  said,  sitting  upright 
on  the  table,  her  massage  gown  covering  her 
massive  legs,  "I  believe  you  and  your  old  treat- 
ment is  all  humbug.  You  promised  to  make 
me  thin.  I  am  fatter  than  ever.  You  said  I 
would  be  young,  but  I  feel  utterly  old  today.  I 
have  paid  you  hundreds  of  dollars,  and  all  told 
my  friends  have  paid  you  thousands  of  dollars, 
but  I  do  not  believe  you  have  done  any  of  us 
a  cent's  worth  of  good." 

"Vy»  vy,  my  gut  lady,"  the  doctor  began, 
"you  make  already  too  much  demper.  You  do 
not  the  Biophor  understand.  Let  me  make  him 
to  you  plain. ' ' 

Then  followed  a  long  scientific  explanation 
in  which  many  technical  terms  of  several  lan- 
guages were  used,  still  the  good  lady  seemed 
dissatisfied.  When  she  had  prepared  herself 
for  the  street,  Dr.  Schmoldt  bowed  her  out  with 
great  politeness. 

"Poof!"  he  said  elevating  his  shoulders,  and 
went  back  to  his  laboratory. 

A  few  days  later  the  doctor  had  a  caller. 
The  card  brought  in  to  him  gave  no  informa- 
tion other  than  the  name,  but  he  noticed  the 
letters  M.  D.  following  it. 

"I  am  one  of  the  committee  on  credentials 
for  the  Medical  Society.  We  do  not  find  your 
license  registered,  doctor,  and  wondered  why 
you  had  neglected  to  comply  with  the  law." 
The  caller  looked  at  the  great  healer  for  a  mo- 
ment closely. 


THE  BIOPHORETIC  HE  ALEE.  171 

"Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  that  this  is  nec- 
essary. Will  you  let  me  inspect  your  creden- 
tials?" 

"I  haf  no  license.  I  do  not  practise  medi- 
cine. Dis  is  a  massage  parlor,"  said  the  healer. 

"You  use  medicine  do  you  not?" 

"I  some  time  prescribe  a  tonic.  I  am  a 
pharmacist.  Dere  is  my  diploma.  I  do  not 
use  medicine  like  a  doctor." 

"What  does  this  mean,  where  you  describe 
a  certain  Elixir?"  asked  the  caller,  pulling  a 
circular  from  his  pocket. 

"I  import  dat  Elixir  from  Paree — I  furnish 
it  just  the  same  as  the  druggist." 

"Why  do  you  use  the  title  Doctor  if  you  are 
not  an  M.  D.?" 

"Vel,  I  am  a  doctor  all  right — for  reasons  of 
business  I  need  not  say  what  kind  of  a  doctor, 
—vat?" 

"Well,  I  will  file  my  report,  and  I  feel  sure 
you  will  hear  from  this  matter  again  soon. 
Good  day." 

"Very  glad  to  met  you,  gut  day,  doktor," 
said  the  healer. 

"Got  in  himmel,"  said  the  now  alarmed 
Schmoldt,"  I  wonder  vat  troubles  he  makes." 

Immediately  he  left  the  house  to  consult  his 
attorney. 

The  next  day  the  old  Chase  residence  was 
again  for  rent.  The  healer  had  disappeared. 
Officers  found  the  house  empty.  During  the 
night  vans  had  again  carried  the  furniture  and 


172  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

fittings  to  unknown  vaults.  The  bank  account 
was  withdrawn  at  the  opening  hour  and  Dr. 
A.  Schmoldt  passed  into  the  memory  of  things 
that  disappoint  and  hopes  that  are  vain. 

Some  of  the  ladies  discussed  the  matter  at 
the  Women's  Club. 

"It's  a  pity  these  doctors  have  to  run  every- 
thing," one  said. 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  medical  free- 
dom," said  another.  "If  I  want  to  pay  Dr. 
Schmoldt  or  anybody  else  for  treating  me,  that 
is  my  business  and  no  affair  of  the  Medical 
Society." 


"I  see  Dr.  Schmoldt  has  migrated,"  said 
Prof.  Blake  to  Mrs.  DeVinne. 

"Yes,  the  old  fraud." 

"Oh,  well  I  did  like  his  theory  very  much. 
We  may  hear  from  him  again.  Who  knows? 
Who  knows?  Wonderful  theory,"  and  the 
old  professor  moved  off  toward  his  classroom. 


Susan  Hillis- -Theoretical 
Mother. 


Society  in  that  little  Southern  town  was  sur- 
prisingly elite — even  punctilious.  Susie  Mar- 
vin— Susie  is  the  youthful  name  for  Susan,  as 
you  know,  yet  Mrs.  Marvin  always  used  the 
adult  name  for  the  more  tender  cognomen 
when  she  wished  to  be  emphatic — Susan  Mar- 
vin I  commenced  to  say,  was  one  of  the  leaders 
if  not  the  leader  of  Harpersburg  society,  at 
least  for  her  particular  generation.  There  had 
been  other  leaders  before  her  of  course — her 
own  mother  for  instance — but  Susie  had  been 
child,  maiden  and  woman — she  had  been  born, 
budded  and  came  out  naturally  it  seemed  to 
set  the  pace  for  Harpersburg. 

At  twenty  she  had  many  admirers,  also 
among  whom  were  a  few  very  persistent  ones. 
This  could  not  be  otherwise  for  Susan  was 
bright,  witty  and  energetic.  She  had  too,  what 
people  call  beauty.  Any  healthy  American 
girl  is  beautiful  for  that  matter,  but  Miss 
Susan  Marvin,  with  her  blue  eyes,  pink  cheeks, 
light  wavy  hair,  plump  figure  and  sprightly 
manner  was  well  endowed  by  Nature  to  claim 
much  from  the  world,  let  her  be  called  a  beauty 
or  not. 


174  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

To  all  this  add  the  fact  that  Susan  had  been 
sent  away  to  a  "finishing  school."  This  had 
given  her  decided  polish.  She  came  home  with 
advanced  ideas.  She  often  talked  of  woman's 
rights,  the  responsibility  of  motherhood,  child 
culture  and  all  those  intellectual  things  so 
much  more  worthy  of  our  conversation  than 
the  ordinary  prattle  and  neighborhood  gossip. 
This  was  her  sentiment. 

Susan  expected  to  be  married  and  she 
wanted  to  be  a  mother.  She  confided  to  her 
few  most  intimate  girl  friends  that  she  wanted 
two  boys  and  one  girl.  It  would  be  so  nice  to 
have  the  boys  a  few  years  older  and  grow  up 
as  brotherly  protectors  for  the  sister.  They 
would  see  to  it  that  no  improper  association 
was  brought  into  the  sister's  life,  and  their 
desire  to  keep  her  good  will  and  good  opinion 
would  exercise  a  restraining  and  beneficial  in" 
fluence  upon  them.  These  imaginary  sons  were 
to  be  model  boys  and  model  men.  They  would 
be  such  a  credit  to  their  parents  and  to 
themselves. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  hear  Susie  go  on  about 
these  unborn  children.  She  had  it  all  planned 
out  from  the  day  of  conception  even,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  day  of  birth — to  the  great  day 
of  successful  and  noble  manhood.  Her  eyes 
would  glisten  as  she  told  of  her  plans — these 
secret  delicate  plans  so  near  to  a  young  wom- 
an's heart  and  not  confessed  to  everybody,  or 
indeed  not  scarcely  to  anybody. 


SUSAN  HILLIS— THEORETICAL  MOTHER.  175 

In  some  way,  perhaps  accidentally,  Susie  had 
run  across  a  book  on  eugenics.  This  she  had 
digested  thoroughly.  By  much  reading  and 
thinking  she  had  what  might  be  termed  a  good 
idea  of  theroretical  matrimony  and  mother- 
hood. She  knew  all  about  prenatal  influences. 
In  her  quiet  moods  she  pictured  the  features, 
dispositions  and  tendencies  of  these  imaginary 
children.  One,  the  first,  a  son  should  have 
musical  talent  and  might  be  dedicated  to  the 
church.  Susie  was  thoroughly  religious.  She 
had  just  then  read  "The  Little  Minister/7  and 
to  have  her  firstborn  give  his  life  to  the  min- 
istry would  be  a  glorious  thing.  She  also  read 
"The  Calling  of  Dan  Matthews,''  and  her  son 
should  be  like  Dan,  only  he  would  stick  to  his 
calling. 

Once  she  let  her  imagination  drift  away  un- 
til it  turned  out  a  day-dream  in  which  she  saw 
a  young  man  of  noble  mien,  standing  in  the 
pulpit,  filling  the  great  church  with  his  elo- 
quent voice,  moving  a  great  congregation  to 
enrapt  attention.  She  thrilled  with  pleasure 
and  pride  as  she  looked  about  her — this  dream 
was  so  real — and  saw  many  moved  to  tears. 
When  the  service  was  over  and  the  people  pre- 
pared to  leave  someone  near  leaned  over  the 
pew  and  asked,  "Who  is  this  wonderful  new 
minister  ? ' ' 

"That  is  my  son.     His  name  is "    Alas, 

what  would  his  name  be?     The  startling  fact 
that  she  could  not  tell  the  lady  his  name,  the 


176  WAYSIDE  EXPEEIENCES. 

name  of  her  own  son,  brought  Susie  back  to 
her  own  world  and  she  laughed  heartily. 

"There  is  no  use  counting  your  chickens  be- 
fore they  are  hatched,"  she  said  to  herself, 
which  it  seemed  to  me,  was  a  very  pertinent 
remark.  One  thing  had  been  settled,  however, 
the  first  boy  would  be  John,  just  plain  John. 

How  true  it  is  that  all  these  woman  thoughts 
are  but  the  promptings  of  motherhood.  This 
wonderful  Cosmic  call  to  procreate  is  the  great 
dominating  passion  of  all  life.  Susie  and  all 
her  kind  do  not  express  it  so,  but  their  ad- 
miration for  men  is  but  the  process  for  select- 
ing suitable  subjects  to  be  fathers  of  their 
children.  Those  men  who  admire  Susie  and  her 
kind,  do  not  say  so  and  perhaps  do  not  know 
it  consciously,  but  what  that  admiration  really 
says  is,  "There  is  a  girl  that  would  make  a 
fine  mother  for  my  children. ' ' 

Wonderful  Cosmic  urge. 


Susie  was  twenty-two  when  she  decided  that 
William  Hillis  was  the  man.  She  came  to  this 
decision  by  the  process  of  elimination,  and  it 
just  had  to  be,  naturally,  Billy  Hillis. 

"You  see,  it  is  this  way,"  she  said  to  her 
mother  one  quiet  afternoon  as  they  talked  it 
over.  That  was  one  good  thing  among  many 
good  things  about  Susan,  she  made  a  confidante 
of  her  mother. 

"I  sure  see  it  will  be  some  way  right  soon. 
I  reckon  it's  the  best  way  too,  though  it  11  be 


SUSAN  HILLI&— THEORETICAL  MOTHER.  177 

hard  to  see  you  go,  Susan."  Mrs.  Marvin 
wiped  a  tear  from  each  eye. 

"Mother  dear,  you  all — you  know  I  will  al- 
ways be  your  daughter  and  will  always  love 
you  just  the  same." 

"Yes,  yes,  honey,  I  know,  I  reckon  I  know. 
Now  tell  me." 

"Well,  it's  this  way.  There  is  Sam  Douglas. 
Sam  is  good  but  headstrong.  His  family  is  all 
right,  but  I  can't  help  thinking  of  the  old 
Judge  when  I  am  with  Sam.  So  out  goes  he," 
and  she  folded  her  little  finger  into  her  palm. 

"Now  this  is  George  Norris.  I  like  George. 
He  is  a  jolly  good  friend  but  too  sporty.  The 
future  never  enters  his  head.  He  is  a  good 
fair  weather  fellow,  but  I  don't  think  he  would 
bear  the  storm.  Out  goes  George."  The  ring 
finger  was  then  closed. 

' '  Now  comes  Perry  J.  Perkins.  Perry  knows 
money  when  he  sees  it.  His  father's  bank  will 
be  Perry's  bank  some  day.  It  is  a  good  family 
too.  Perry's  sister  Jennie  has  always  been  my 
best  chum.  How  would  Perry  do,  mother?" 

"Susan,  child,  your  father  and  me  will  be 
suited  when  you  are." 

"Then,  mother,  I'll  tell  you  why  I  am  going 
to  marry  William  Hillis  if  he  asks  me,  and  I 
reckon  he  will  tonight.  Billy  is  good,  kind  and 
has  no  bad  habits.  His  family  is  old,  respected 
and  among  the  best — as  good  as  ours.  He  is 
ambitious  and  has  a  good  future  in  his  profes- 
sion. He  isn't  so  much  on  looks,  but  makes 
up  for  it  in  character,  and — and — mother,  I 


178  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

think  I  like  him  better  than  any  boy  I  ever 
knew." 

Then  the  two  women  wept  a  few  minutes 
quietly. 

Billy  did  ask  and  was  accepted.  The  town 
of  Harpersburg  congratulated  both  Billy  and 
Susan.  The  wedding,  honeymoon  and  all  that 
went  along  as  such  things  usually  do.  All  this 
is  not  a  part  of  our  story. 


William  loved  his  wife.  No  doubt  about 
that.  When  they  took  the  train  for  a  new 
home  in  a  large  northern  city  where  Billy  had 
secured  a  good  position  in  the  engineering  de- 
partment of  a  great  steel  manufacturing  con- 
cern, he  said,  "Never  fear,  mother,  I'll  take 
good  care  of  her." 

"I  know  you  will,  William,"  yet  Susan's 
mother  cried  as  if  she  doubted  it.  These  fam- 
ily partings  seem  hard,  yet  such  is  the  way  of 
life.  We  should  be  used  to  it  by  this  time. 

Billy  and  Susan  had  been  married  a  year  to 
the  day  when  John  arrived.  Susan  had  been 
getting  ready  for  him  for  months.  She  made 
all  the  dainty  little  baby  things  with  her  own 
hands.  She  read  a  good  deal,  good  fiction  and 
religious  writings.  She  read  "The  Logic  of 
Christian  Evidence,"  Paley's  "Law  and  Evi- 
dence" and  other  works  of  sound  theology. 
She  wanted  to  give  John  his  bent  for  the  min- 
istry. She  kept  herself  cheerful  and  happy  in 
spite  of  some  aches  and  pains  for  she  wished 


SUSAN  HILLIS^-THEORETICAL  MOTHER.  179 

him  to  have  a  good  disposition.  John  should 
be  a  model  baby.  His  mother  knew  the  im- 
portance prenatal  impressions  and  influence. 

Mother  Marvin  had  come  North  for  the  great 
occasion  and  to  lend  her  skill  and  aid  in  the 
trying  time.  She  declared  she  could  not  stand 
the  Northern  niggers — Susan  had  a  colored 
cook  just  then — "If  they  was  down  our  way 
they'd  soon  learn  their  place."  The  obstrep- 
erous cook  was  banished  and  Mrs.  Marvin  car- 
ried the  whole  load  of  household  affairs  alone. 
She'd  rather  do  it,  she  said,  than  have  to  stand 
these  Northern  niggers. 

When  baby  John  was  washed  and  dressed 
and  Grandma  laid  him  on  Mamma  Susan's  arm 
in  the  bed  beside  which  sat  the  proud  and 
happy  Billy,  the  young  mother  said,  " Isn't 
he  glorious,  Billy?  God  is  good — oh,  so  good. 
Now  I'm  a  mother.  I'm  paying  my  debt.  But, 
Billy,  I  don't  think  I  want  any  more — at  least 
I  don't  think  so  just  now." 

Baby  John  cried  a  good  deal.  He  seemed 
to  have  all  the  forty  different  kinds  of  colic 
and  Billy  said  he  yelled  just  for  the  fun  of  it. 
At  the  office  some  one  told  him  about  the 
Jewish  man  who  said,  "Ve  haf  a  ten  tousand 
dollar  baby  up  at  our  house,  but  ve  vould  not 
gif  ten  cents  for  anoder  just  like  'im."  Billy 
said  he  agreed  with  the  gentleman. 

Mother  Marvin's  methods  of  baby  training 
did  not  agree  very  well  with  Mamma  Susan's 
but  rather  than  give  offense  she  decided  to  let 


180  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

things  go  until  she  should  get  up.  Then  she 
would  start  in  rightly  with  baby  John  and  he 
would  soon  be  a  good  baby.  But  Susan  did  not 
get  up  for  a  month,  and  by  that  time  John's 
bad  habits  seemed  somewhat  confirmed.  He 
would  sleep  days  and  yell  nights — of  course 
1  'yell"  is  not  a  nice  word  but  that  was  what 
Billy  called  it. 

Still  baby  thrived,  and  when  Susan  got 
about  Mother  Marvin  went  home.  She  said  the 
less  mother-in-law  we  have  about  as  a  steady 
thing  is,  as  a  rule,  the  better.  Billy  said  he 
wished  all  mother-in-law  records  were  as  good 
as  his. 

"I  don't  think  you  will  have  to  come  again 
very  soon,  Mother — not  for  the  same  purpose," 
Susan  said  at  parting.  "I've  changed  my 
ideas  some  lately." 

"Oh,  well,  we  shall  see — we  shall  see,"  was 
Mrs.  Marvin's  reply. 

Little  John  did  like  music.  When  a  year  old 
he  would  get  a  basin  from  the  kitchen  and  a 
tack  hammer  or  something  and  creep  into  the 
living  room.  Then  he  would  pound  away  so 
loudly  no  one  could  talk  and  be  heard.  Of 
course  company  said  it  was  so  cute,  but  Mamma 
Susan  would  say,  "Why  son,  son  John,  you 
can't  do  that."  Then  she  would  take  the 
things  away  from  him.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
would  have  either  the  same  objects  or  some- 
thing equally  effective  and  resume  his  labors. 
Mamma  would  repeat  the  disarming  process, 
at  which  the  sensitive  feelings  of  son  John 


SUSAN  HILLIS— THEORETICAL  MOTHER.  181 

would  be  decidedly  hurt  and  he  would  make 
loud  music  with  his  own  voice.  At  this  junc- 
ture mamma  would  beg  to  be  excused  to  take 
baby  to  another  room,  where  after  many  sorts 
of  cajoling  his  wounded  heart  would  be  for- 
gotten in  sleep. 

Presently  Mamma  Susan  would  return  say- 
ing, "He  was  sleepy,  that's  all.  Still  I  will  ad- 
mit I  have  had  all  my  baby  theories  spoiled. 
This  boy  John  just  upsets  all  my  plans  for 
him." 


When  John  was  two  he  was  too  cute  for  any- 
thing. He  would  catch  the  cat  by  the  tail  and 
throw  him  down  stairs  and  say,  "Ta — tat," 
and  point  his  thumb  at  the  discomforted  crea- 
ture. Once  kitty  rebelled  and  the  cat  came 
back  with  a  good  scratch  across  the  child's 
hand  and  arm.  It  took  considerable  nursing 
and  petting  to  sooth  his  heart  after  this.  He 
kept  saying,  "Tat  hurt  John's  warrum." 
When  those  final  sobs  ended  in  sleep,  mamma 
laid  him  on  the  bed  saying,  "Poor  little  son." 

Kitty  was  banished. 

Susan  was  telling  callers  one  day  how  Papa 
William  had  said  he  would  have  to  take  the 
kinks  out  of  John  and  how  the  baby  at  break- 
fast that  morning  had  said,  "Papa,  I  take 
tinks  out  of  oo."  Mamma  thought  it  was  a 
funny  story,  and  little  John  thought  so  too, 
for  he  laughed  with  the  rest.  His  ego  was  al- 
ready swelling  rapidly.  He  was  the  center  of 


182  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

the  stage.  He  ruled  the  house.  He  was  getting 
to  be  master  of  all  he  surveyed.  He  was  such 
a  cute  child. 

By  this  time  William  Hillis  had  won  promo- 
tion and  felt  established  enough  to  buy  a  home. 
It  was  a  new  place,  eight  rooms,  modern  but 
undecorated.  They  decided  to  leave  the  walls 
as  they  were  till  son  got  a  little  older,  and  too, 
to  make  the  old  furniture  do.  It  was  already 
well  marked  and  dented  by  the  baby's  busy 
hammer,  and  the  walls  were  not  long  wanting 
his  attention.  He  discovered  he  could  pound 
holes  in  the  plaster,  and  papa's  pencil  was 
handy  to  trace  all  kinds  of  criss-cross  marks 
along  the  white  spaces.  Of  course  Mamma 
said,  * '  Why  son,  son  John, ' '  and  took  the  pencil 
away.  He  was  such  an  active  child. 

Summer  came  and  John  was  now  three.  The 
porch  with  its  improvised  gate  would  hold  him 
no  longer.  He  had  discovered  that  there  were 
other  children  in  the  world.  Many  times  a  day 
Mamma  Susan  would  seek  him,  calling  "John, 
son  John,  come  home,"  but  son  John  paid  no 
heed.  She  usually  carried  him  home  held  under 
an  arm  with  his  heels  beating  a  vigorous  tattoo 
against  her  back  and  his  lusty  voice  letting 
the  whole  neighborhood  know  his  displeasure. 

Next  door  lived  the  Greens.  Little  Lizzie 
was  four  and  Benny  six.  They  were  gentle 
children  and  humored  him.  John  often  played 
with  the  Green  children.  One  day  things  did 
no  go  to  suit  him,  so  he  caught  up  the  little 
sand  spade  and  with  one  sturdy  blow  on  the 


SUSAN  HILLIS— THEORETICAL  MOTHER.  183 

head  with  his  three  year  old  arm,  felled  Lizzie 
to  the  walk  where  she  lay  unconscious  until 
discovered  by  a  passer-by,  who  called  the 
alarmed  mothers  upon  the  scene.  For  this  John 
received  a  "good  whipping, "  which  he  seemed 
to  forget  by  the  next  day. 

Mrs.  Green  informed  Mrs.  Hillis  that  here- 
after John  could  not  play  with  her  children. 
"He's  just  a  little  savage  and  you  keep  him 
at  home  until  you  can  teach  him  better."  This 
and  other  things  she  said  quite  forcibly.  Billy 
had  a  fence  built  between  the  lots.  Susan  was 
dreadfully  hurt  about  John.  She  talked  to  him 
a  good  deal,  then  some  more. 

It  began  to  dawn  upon  Susan  that  mother- 
hood was  something  more  than  theory.  The 
child  worried  her.  The  only  peace  she  had  was 
when  John  was  asleep.  Billy  noticed  how  thin 
she  was  getting,  and  her  pink  cheeks  were  pale 
now. 

"You  must  have  help  Susan,"  he  said. 

"Will,  the  last  three  girls  I  had  left  on  ac- 
count of  baby.  I  just  can't  have  these  outside 
influences  in  the  house." 


It  was  a  proud  day  when  little  John,  now 
five  years  old,  was  carried  away  to  the  kinder- 
garten. It  was  great  fun  riding  in  the  wagon, 
a  row  of  children  facing  all  about,  with  a  kind 
teacher  to  oversee  them.  The  school  was  but  a 
few  blocks  away  and  Mamma  Susan  could  see 
the  building  from  the  front  porch.  About  an 


184  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

hour  after  the  wagon  had  rumbled  away  with 
the    children,    she    looked    down    the    street. 
There  she  saw  John  trudging  homeward  with 
a  larger  boy  following  at  a  respectful  distance. 
"Why,  son,  son  John,  what  is  the  matter?" 
was  the  mother's  greeting. 
"I  don't  like  that  school.    I  came  home/' 
Just  then  the  older  boy  came  up  the  steps 
and  handed  Mrs.  Hillis  a  note.    It  read: 

Dear  Mrs.  Hillis:  Your  son  is  so  incor- 
rigible we  let  him  go  or  rather  sent  him 
home  for  the  present.  If  you  will  come 
with  him  for  a  day  or  two  I  think  we  will 
get  on  all  right  with  him. 

He  has  never  learned  the  least  idea  of 
obedience  and  has  no  conception  whatever 
of  the  rights  of  others. 

Come  with  him  tomorrow. 

Respectfully, 
Martha  Allington,  Teacher. 

Poor  little  Mamma  Susan,  first  angry,  then 
chagrined,  burst  into  tears.  John  stood  mutely 
by  watching  her.  Finally  she  dried  her  eyes 
and  asked,  "What  did  you  do  at  school, 
John?" 

"Nothing!  I  just  shoved  a  boy  out  of  my 
way— that's  all." 

"What  then?" 

"That  teacher  came — the  one  with  things  on 
her  eyes — she  came  and  set  me  up  on  a  high 
chair." 

"Then?" 


SUSAN  HILLIS— THEORETICAL  MOTHEE.  185 

"Then  I  got  down.  I  won't  sit  on  a  high 
chair,  so  I  won't." 

"Then  what?" 

4 'She  put  me  up  again,  then — then — I  kicked 
at  her." 

"Oh,  son,  son." 

"Then  I  wouldn't  stay  any  more,  an'  she 
said,  'Go  home,  boy,  go  home.'  " 

"Then  what?" 

"Then  I  came  out  an'  that  boy  kept  fol- 
lowin'  behind  me.  One  time  I  turned  'round 
and  made  a  face  at  him." 

Again  Susan  was  cast  down  with  the  con- 
viction that  she  had  failed  as  a  mother.  She 
wondered  why.  She  tried  to  analyze  the  whole 
thing.  The  words  of  that  note  from  the  teach- 
er kept  ringing  in  her  ears: 

"Never  learned  the  first  idea  of  obedience. 
No  conception  of  the  rights  of  others." 

She  had  tried  to  be  so  patient  with  John. 
He  was  such  an  active  child,  so  full  of  life,  she 
could  not  confine  him  altogether.  She  could 
not  correct  and  punish  a  baby  for  every  little 
baby  trick.  What  was  wrong?  Those  cruel 
words  could  not  be  true.  "Never  learned  the 
first  idea  of  obedience.  No  conception  of  the 
rights  of  others."  What  had  he  been  sent  to 
the  school  for?  Did  they  expect  little  angels 
of  perfection  to  come  to  them? 


When  John  was  eight  he  was  kidnapped — 
at  least  he  said  he  was.  Two  rough  men, 
tramps  he  called  them,  took  him  down  the  rail- 


186  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

road  track  and  were  waiting  for  a  train  to 
come  along  to  carry  him  off.  Watching  for  a 
chance  when  they  were  not  looking  he  had 
slipped  away  and  came  home.  Susan  believed 
the  story,  and  made  William  believe  it.  They 
called  in  the  police  and  from  them  the  news- 
papers heard  the  tale.  It  made  a  good 
item  and  the  boys  with  noses  for  news  worked 
it  for  all  it  was  worth.  The  "tramps"  read 
the  story  and  went  to  headquarters. 

They  worked  they  said,  at  the  Riggles  Liv- 
ery Stable.  The  boy  had  been  a  frequent 
loiterer  about  the  barn  and  had  been  suspected 
of  stealing  whips.  On  this  day  they  hid  and 
watched  him.  When  he  had  selected  a  whip 
and  skipped  away  they  ran  after  him,  caught 
him,  took  the  Whip  away  and  gave  him  a  few 
good  cuts  with  it.  This  sent  him  home  crying. 

This  version  of  the  story  was  told  to  John's 
parents.  It  seemed  as  if  the  boy  had  some 
diabolical  skill  for  revenge,  since  in  that  state 
kidnapping  is  punished  by  life  imprisonment. 
The  welts  and  bruises  John  bore  now  looked 
very  differently  than  when  supposed  to  origi- 
nate in  a  fierce  struggle  with  two  ruffians. 

Mamma  Susan  threw  herself  upon  the  boy's 
bed  that  night  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  would 
break,  but  John  was  obdurate. 

"Those  men  told  lies — they  did  mamma, 
they  did." 

"Oh,  son,  I'd  rather  see  you  dead  and  put 
in  the  cold  ground  than  have  you  grow  up  a 


SUSAN  HILLIS— THEORETICAL  MOTHER.  187 

liar  and  a  thief.     Oh,  God,  what  have  I  done 
to  deserve  all  this?    What  have  I  done?" 

Tears  stood  out  in  John's  eyes.  He  did  not 
like  the  thought  of  that  cold  ground,  but  he 
would  not  confess. 


When  John  was  sixteen  he  managed  to  fin- 
ish the  Grammar  school.  He  did  not  like  study 
very  well  and  was  somewhat  backward  in  his 
work.  He  told  his  father  he  wanted  to  go  to 
work.  He  was  already  a  confirmed  cigarette 
user  and  had  other  vices  his  parents  knew 
nothing  of.  He  said  he  wanted  to  be  a  man 
and  get  into  men's  work.  He  had  education 
enough. 

By  this  time  William  held  an  important  office 
with  the  steel  company  and  had  a  good  income. 
He  urged  upon  John  the  importance  of  his  get- 
ting such  an  education  that  he  might  follow 
his  father  in  the  same  line  of  work.  The  boy 
had  always  had  plenty  of  spending  money,  but 
he  never  knew  the  value  of  a  dollar  by  earn- 
ing one  with  his  own  labor. 

"You  can  settle  the  matter  right  now,  my 
son,"  said  William,  "you  are  going  to  school. 
Just  when  and  for  what  purpose  we  will  de- 
cide before  the  time  comes." 

Before  the  matter  was  settled,  however,  John 
had  disappeared.  Not  a  trace  of  him  could  be 
found. 

The  worry  and  suspense  made  Susan  sick. 
She  seemed  already  an  old  woman.  Care  and 
anxiety  had  driven  all  the  bloom  from  her 


188  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

cheeks  and  the  wavy  hair  was  streaked  with 
gray. 

Days  and  weeks  went  by  but  not  a  word 
from  John.  The  coming  of  the  postman,  so 
closely  watched  at  first,  no  longer  interested 
her.  She  knew  he  was  dead.  Then  at  other 
times  she  imagined  him  living  and  wandering 
about,  begging  for  food  at  people's  doors.  Dis- 
pair  had  taken  a  firm  grip  on  Susan's  heart. 
The  only  solace  she  had  left  was  to  pray  for 
John.  Every  night  she  wondered  where  he 
was;  if  he  had  any  place  to  sleep.  At  every 
meal  she  could  scarcely  eat  thinking  how  John 
might  be  hungry  at  that  moment. 

William  had  employed  detectives,  police  and 
newspaper  advertisements.  He  had  followed 
down  many  false  clues.  His  advertisements 
brought  many  letters  from  people  impersonat- 
ing John  and  asking  for  money.  But  no  word 
came  from  anyone  concerning  the  real  John. 

Six  months  passed,  then  one  day  a  telegram 
came. 

Brooklyn  Navy  Yard, 
Joined  the  navy.    Come  and  get  me  out. 

John. 


Both  mother  and  father  started  for  New 
York  at  once.  Susan  revived  wonderfully 
when  she  knew  John  was  alive  and  no  doubt 
well.  She  chatted  about  what  they  would  do ; 
how  good  it  would  be  to  have  John  at  home; 
how  they  must  take  him  into  William's  office; 
get  him  interested  in  some  worthy  endeavor, 


SUSAN  HILLIS  —THEORETICAL  MOTHER.  189 

etc.  To  all  this  William  said  little.  He 
seemed  unusually  quiet  and  thoughtful. 

At  the  Navy  Yard  they  found  John,  enlisted 
under  an  assumed  name.  One  of  the  govern- 
ment launches  took  them  out  to  his  ship.  It 
was  an  embarrassing  meeting.  The  boy  hardly 
expected  to  see  his  mother.  He  was  looking 
for  his  father  to  come  and  take  him  away,  as 
he  had  seen  other  fathers  do  with  their  sons. 
His  face  got  very  red  and  he  swallowed  hard 
at  times  as  if  something  choked  him. 

''Oh,  son,  why  did  you  do  it?"  This  was 
Susan's  greeting  as  she  clasped  her  boy  in  her 
arms. 

There  is  no  need  to  dwell  upon  the  visit. 
Mother  and  father  were  shown  over  the  ship. 
It  seemed  like  a  great  floating  white  castle  to 
them.  Everything  moved  like  clockwork.  Or- 
der, system,  cleanliness,  obedience,  law  and — 
punishment  were  there.  There  had  been  a 
long  interview  between  William  and  the  com- 
manding officer. 

" You  11  see  about  it  tomorrow,  won't  you, 
Dad?" 

This  was  John's  good  bye  question  as  they 
left  for  the  hotel.  After  supper  William  said, 
"I  want  to  tell  you  a  few  things,  Sue.  I  think 
we  had  better  leave  John  where  he  is.  For  a 
few  hundred  dollars  I  can  arrange  his  release, 
but  I  am  sure  it  would  be  a  bad  investment." 

"But  William,  think  how  the  boy  will  feel 
if  we  don't  take  him  home." 


190  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

"Think  how  we  will  feel  if  we  do.  No, 
little  wife,  I've  let  you  ran  that  boy  ever  since 
he  was  born,  but  it's  time  now  I  took  a  hand 
before  it's  too  late.  John  Hillis  is  going  to 
stay  in  the  navy  and  serve  his  time  out.  It 
will  make  a  man  of  him." 


By  tactful  explanation  John  was  finally  re- 
conciled to  trying  it  a  while  longer.  By  the 
time  his  first  home  leave  came,  he  had  begun 
to  take  some  pride  in  his  new  life  and  work, 
letters  from  his  teachers  and  officers  began  to 
praise  his  deportment  and  progress.  After  the 
visit  home,  he  went  back  determined  to  stick 
it  out. 

John  is  still  in  the  navy.  He  has  two  more 
years  to  serve.  In  his  last  letter,  among  other 
things  he  said,  "Yes,  mother,  it  is  a  sure  thing, 
they  do  teach,  us  to  obey  orders  and  we  get 
a  mighty  good  notion  of  the  rights  of  others." 

After  John  had  gone  Susan  said,  "William, 
God  is  good.  I  think  we  better  have  another 
baby  right  away  before  it  is  too  late.  I  think 
I  am  better  fitted  now  to  be  a  mother.  I  have 
learned  that  motherhood  means  something 
more  than  a  loving  heart  and  the  organs  of 
reproduction.  I  want  to  try  again,  Billy." 


Joel  Rigby's  Monument 


The  old  man  had  been  talking  nearly  all  the 
morning  with  "one  o'  them  travelin'  agents". 
The  invalid  wife  had  seen  the  "goin'  on"  from 
her  usual  outlook,  seated  by  the  "settin'  room" 
window.  During  the  interview  Joel  Rigby 
and  the  agent  had  come  from  the  barn  to  the 
front  porch,  and  from  where  they  sat  looking 
over  the  catalogues,  sundry  low  voiced  re- 
marks had  caught  the  ever-alert  ear  of  the  old 
lady,  dulled  by  age  and  sickness  though  it  was, 
yet  keen  enough  to  know  what  was  going  on 
about  the  premises.  She  had  the  usual  ques- 
tion mark  of  fear  common  to  all  pessimists. 
Harm  is  always  looked  for,  but  good  is  not  ex- 
pected. If  it  comes,  it  is  a  wonder,  that  is  all 
there  is  to  it. 

Stray  glimpses  too,  she  caught,  of  pictures, 
as  she  looked  across  the  porch  from  the  win- 
dow where  she  sat,  and  had  been  sitting 
most  of  the  waking  hours  for  the  past  twenty 
years.  The  pictures  gave  her  at  once  a  grave 
suspicion  that  "Pa"  was  again  bent  on  buying 
a  monument.  She  had  on  several  previous  oc- 
casions thwarted  a  like  purpose,  and  she  meant 
to  do  so  now. 

Had  these  catalogue  books  been  open  to 
"Ma"  as  they  had  been  to  the  good  old  man, 


192  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

certainly  nothing  less  than  another  "bad 
spell"  would  have  followed,  for  there  was  no 
end  of  death  suggestions:  Angels  with  hover- 
ing wings,  all  carved  from  the  immortal  mar- 
ble, stationed  on  square  and  circular  pedestals ; 
also  cherubims  with  glad  smiles,  to  say  nothing 
of  lambs,  doves  and  open  books.  All  these 
Joel  Rigby  saw  with  just  a  little  shiver  run- 
ning up  and  down  his  spine,  and  faithful  care- 
taker that  he  was,  and  had  been  all  these  years, 
he  knew  full  well  the  danger  of  taking  "Ma" 
into  the  details  of  this  monument  transaction. 

Ma — let  us  fall  into  the  old  man's  way  and 
call  her  so — had  been  dying  for  twenty  years, 
or  it  was  expected  she  would  die  most  any  time. 
Some  of  the  neighbors  were  cold  hearted 
enough  to  say  it  might  be  a  good  thing,  for  it 
would  give  Joel  a  chance  to  have  a  little  peace 
before  his  own  time  came.  Some  were  willing 
to  bet  she  would  outlive  the  old  man  yet,  for  he 
was  then  eighty-seven.  Long  since  the  village 
doctor's  gig  ceased  hitching  at  the  Rigby  gate, 
and  for  a  year  or  two  it  had  not  even  halted, 
as  the  doctor  flew  by,  his  long  white  whiskers 
and  hair  flying  in  the  wind. 

Mrs.  Joel  Rigby  kept  track  of  things.  "Pa, 
I  wonder  who 's  sick  up  the  plank  road  to  make 
Dr.  Black  in  such  a  powerful  sight  of  hurry?" 
Joel  knew  this  meant  he  should  waylay  the 
doctor  or  any  passerby  to  gain  the  desired  in- 
formation. 

When  a  woman  of  Lucretia  Rigby 's  deter- 
mination had  made  up  her  mind  to  be  incurably 


JOEL  RIGHT'S   MONUMENT.  193 

sick  there  was  no  further  use  for  a  doctor.  It 
is  true  Joel  would  at  long  intervals  hail  the 
passing  doctor.  "Now  you're  passin'  Doc, 
come  in  and  see  my  wife. ' '  The  doctor  under- 
stood what  "now  you're  passin'  "  meant.  He 
would  not  be  expected  to  charge  a  regular  fee. 
The  expense,  this  played  an  important 
role  in  all  the  Rigby  deliberations.  Ma's 
greatest  virtue  had  been  to  save.  Not  a  thing 
could  go  to  waste  about  her  domain.  Even  the 
decaying  apples  must  be  used  first,  and  Pa  had 
once  braved  reproach  to  suggest  that  she  kept 
them  eating  "rotten  apples  all  the  time,  trying 
to  save  the  sound  ones." 

But  this  monument  matter  was  an  important 
event.  There  had  been  two  hundred  dollars 
in  the  Wellsville  Corners  Bank  for  some  time, 
laid  aside  for  this  special  monumental  purpose. 
This  was  not  all  that  scrimping  and  scraping 
for  fifty  odd  years  had  accomplished  to  be 
sure,  for  there  was  much  more  in  this  and  other 
safe  places.  But  this  monument  fund  had 
waited  patiently  for  the  opportune  time  to  be 
used  for  its  destined  purpose.  Joel  had  been 
"lottin'  "  on  living  to  see  the  family  properly 
represented  in  the  village  cemetery. 

Now  as  he  bid  the  friendly  agent  good-bye  at 
the  stable  door,  a  settled  feeling  crept  over  the 
stooped  and  tottering  old  man,  a  feeling  that 
comes  to  one  who  believes  that  an  eternal  peace 
has  been  made  with  the  Almighty  and  the  last 
worldly  duty  properly  done.  The  illustrated 
monument  catalogue  was  tucked  away  in  the 


194  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

little  box  at  the  barn  where  he  kept  his  ' '  Sweet 
Cuba  Fine  Cut"  tobacco  and  his  "pep 'mints". 
Years  and  years  ago  he  had  fought  and  won 
the  battle  which  forever  gave  him  these  two 
indulgences,  and  in  the  oft  repeated  phrase  of 
the  morning  prayer  about  "forgivin'  and  for- 
gettin'  our  sinful  indulgences,"  fine  cut  and 
peppermints  played  an  important  part. 

Monument  No.  241  had  been  selected.  A 
square,  massive  granite  block,  with  sloping  top 
and  on  either  side  a  polished  space  for  names 
and  other  data.  The  agent  had  carried  away 
the  paper  upon  which  the  old  man  had  scrawl- 
ed the  family  names  and  dates. 

"Now  remember,"  Joel  said  at  parting,  "I 
ain't  signed  nothin'  an'  if  that  stone  ain't  sot 
up  by  Decoration  Day  I  don't  want  it." 

"Oh,  we  shall  surely  have  it  there  by  that 
time, ' '  the  agent  insisted,  carefully  putting  the 
folded  paper  in  his  pocket  book,  thinking  it 
might  serve  as  evidence  of  the  order  if  need 
arose. 

"I  never  sign  nothin''  Joel  had  said. 
"When  the  stone  is  sot  up  the  money  is  ready." 

The  book  safely  hidden  the  horse  Billy  re- 
membered with  a  "pep 'mint"  or  two,  then  the 
poor  old  man  collected  all  his  courage  and  tot- 
tered off  toward  the  house,  where  he  knew  the 
ordeal  of  explaining  what  he  had  done  and 
what  he  had  not  done,  awaited  him.  He  mar- 
veled now,  as  he  made  his  way  along  the  grass 
path,  how  little  he  feared  what  Ma  might  say, 
but  buying  a  monument  was  different — a  part 


JOEL  RIGBY'S  MONUMENT.  195 

of  one's  last  earthly  acts,  he  thought,  and  this 
lent  him  justification.  He  had  faithfully  re- 
ported and  consulted,  even  abided  by  Ma's 
judgement  in  every  business  detail  during  all 
those  fifty  odd  years  of  their  married  life.  Now 
to  break  over  and  really  do  something  of  which 
he  knew  she  did  not  approve,  called  for  super- 
human strength,  and  surprised  him  how  little 
he  seemed  concerned.  As  he  went  along  he 
hummed  his  favorite  tune,  "Oh,  Happy  day 
that  fixed  my  chice,"  as  he  said  it,  and  this 
was  his  song,  treading  the  narrow  pathway  that 
led  to  the  house. 

In  the  early  days  Joel  Rigby  had  been  a 
drover,  and  some  even  yet  lived  who  said  he 
was  a  tricky  buyer  and  seller,  but  so  many 
years  had  passed  since  Joel  had  been  little  else 
but  his  wife's  faithful  nurse,  and  doing  little 
else  save  now  and  then  some  feeble  plodding 
about  the  garden  and  doing  the  ' '  chores ' ',  that 
such  a  character,  had  he  rightly  deserved  it, 
was  long  since  forgotten.  A  faithful  mourner 
at  the  communion  bench  at  the  "Corner's" 
Methodist  Church,  Joel  often  sought  consola- 
tion with  tearful  eyes  and  endeavored  to  feel 
that  he  had  made  and  was  making  full  atone- 
ment. He  always  "jined"  in  the  singing  and 
his  quavering  old  voice  told  very  well  the  story 
of  his  spiritual  enthusiasm.  Better  evidence 
still  of  the  old  man's  sincerity  was  his  prayers. 
When  he  testified  of  the  "savin 'grace"  and  said 
how  he  hardly  knew  where  he  should  have  been 
that  day  but  for  "my  wife's  prayers"  he  never 


196  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

failed  to  bring  forth  a  loud  chorus  of  hearty 
and  fervent  "amens",  even  though  the  same 
story  had  been  told  a  hundred  times  before  at 
the  "  class  meetin'  "  hour. 

Such  was  Ma's  faithful  servant,  nurse  and 
attendant  through  all  these  years  the  decided 
old  lady  had  sat  in  her  usual  chair  in  her  usual 
corner  of  the  "settin'  room."  True  this  service 
from  time  to  time  had  been  augumented  by  a 
"woman"  employed  after  due  deliberation  and 
discussion  especially  of  the  matter  of  wages. 
A  liberal  pension  from  the  government  and 
habits  of  constant  scrimping  had  kept  them 
far  from  penury,  but  "Ma"  could  endure  a 
"hired  woman"  only  about  so  long.  The  kit- 
chen floor,  though  scrubbed  every  morning 
"right  after  prayers  and  dishes"  and  always 
so  respected  by  Joel  that  he  tip-toed  across 
it,  was  never  quite  so  white  as  she  used  to 
keep  it.  One  thing  and  the  only  thing  about 
which  she  was  willing  to  boast  was  the  fact 
that  she  was  neat,  and  always  had  been  so. 
Neatness  was  a  twin  sister  of  godliness  and 
they  were  never  separated  in  her  mind. 

In  former  years  it  was  not  much  trouble  for 
Ma  to  put  the  pans  and  other  utensils  in  their 
proper  places.  These  "hired  wimmin"  never 
could  learn  that  the  yellow  bowls  must  be 
turned  upside  down  and  arranged  in  a  row 
from  large  to  small  on  the  third  shelf,  and  that 
the  bone  handled  knives  and  forks  must  be 
placed  side  by  side  at  the  South  end  of  the 
second  shelf.  Then  too,  the  "salt  risin'  emp- 


JOEL  RIGBY'S  MONUMENT.  197 

tins"  were  always  "spilin'  "  and  they  peeled 
the  "pertaters  as  if  they  weren't  worth  a  dol- 
lar a  bushel,  an'  the  very  best  part  is  right 
next  the  peelin'." 

"Land  sakes,  dew  tell  that  woman  to  pack 
her  duds  and  go.  I'm  so  nervous  my  heart's 
bustin'."  This  remark  had  been  heard  many 
times  in  the  old  farm  house,  and  Joel  would 
bundle  "that  woman"  off.  Then  often  for 
a  week  or  a  month,  two  whole  dollars  a  week 
had  been  saved,  besides  "what  the  critter 
wasted  and  et  herself."  A  long  respected 
Rigby  axiom  had  been,  "Savin'  is  the  same  as 
earnin'."  It  was  observed  that  a  three  dol- 
lar a  week  woman  lasted  less  time  than  the  two 
dollar  grade.  The  more  expense  involved  the 
sooner  it  undermined  Ma's  nerves. 

Along  the  path  came  Joel  humming  "Oh 
happy  day"  just  as  if  this  monument  business 
had  not  come  up  to  be  fought  out.  Two  hun- 
dred dollars!  Years  and  years  had  passed 
since  a  sum  of  even  two  figures  had  been  spent 
all  at  one  plunge  and  now  to  think  of  a  sum 
with  three  figures  should  make  one  tremble. 
But  Joel  felt  never  a  tremble.  He  was  think- 
ing how  fine  and  grand  that  monument  would 
look,  standing  there  on  the  hillside  in  the  vil- 
lage cemetery. 

As  he  passed  the  corner  of  the  house,  now 
as  usual  he  rolled  his  well  worn  quid  into  his 
hand  and  gave  it  careful  scrutiny.  Deciding 
that  the  goodness  was  all  out  of  it,  instead  of 
placing  it  carefully  in  his  nickel  tobacco  box, 


198  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

he  deposited  it  at  the  root  of  the  old  poplar 
tree  along  with  many  companions  of  like  fate, 
which  made  a  neat  little  mound  there.  Joel 
never  chewed  tobacco  in  the  house.  It  made 
Ma  nervous. 

"Joel,"  came  the  commanding  voice  from 
the  sitting  room.  Mrs.  Rigby  never  said 
"Joel"  except  on  serious  and  important  oc- 
casions. 

"Come  in  here."  The  old  man  approached. 
"Why,  Pa,  dew  look  at  your  boots." 

Looking  as  bid,  the  old  man  hastily  tottered 
off  to  the  kitchen  steps  where  he  gravely  and 
slowly  swept  and  brushed  his  cowhides,  mean- 
while realizing  that  he  had  less  courage  than 
he  thought.  The  task  done,  he  once  more  en- 
tered the  invincible  presence.  This  time  her 
gaze  fixed  itself  upon  his  face  instead  of  his 
feet. 

"Pa,  go  wash  your  face;  you'll  feel  better. 
There  is  somethin'  on  your  whiskers  too." 
Could  it  be  possible  that  in  the  excitement  of 
the  monument  ordering  he  had  forgotten  his 
tobacco  juice  ?  Such  a  thing  had  been  so  often 
called  to  his  mind,  that  his  usual  habit  was  to 
gather  the  long  white  beard  in  his  hand  and 
hold  it  well  away  from  the  line  of  his  abundant 
expectoration.  Clutching  it  now,  he  obeyed 
again  and  gave  his  face  a  thorough  scrubbing 
at  the  kitchen  sink.  At  last  approaching  the 
sitting  room  door,  he  asked  meekly,  "Did  ye 
want  anything,  Ma?" 


JOEL   RIGHT'S   MONUMENT.  199 

"  Codfish  and  saleratus!  Dew  I  want  any- 
thing?" 

Here  the  little  old  lady  set  her  thin  lips  firm- 
ly together  and  fixed  her  sharp  black  eyes  on 
her  husband.  A  picture  of  discomfort  he  sat, 
his  long  white  beard  twitching  nervously  as  he 
twirled  his  thumbs  and  looked  at  the  floor. 
The  well  patched  over-alls  hutched  up  nearly 
to  his  shoulders  and  a  "jumper"  of  like  ma- 
terial covered  his  bony  frame,  and  covered  too, 
a  kindly  heart.  He  often  bemoaned  their 
lonely  and  forsaken  lot,  with  no  kith  or  kin  to 
help  them  along  the  last  years  of  life.  It  was 
a  problem  he  had  never  been  able  to  solve, 
just  as  we  other  mortals  often  fail  to  realize 
what  course  of  conduct  builds  for  a  happy  and 
peaceful  love-cared  old  age.  It  is  a  great  art 
to  grow  old  gracefully  and  cheerfully. 

"Be  you  goin'  to  buy  a  monument?" 

Here  he  was  face  to  face  with  the  long  and 
short  of  it. 

"Why  Ma,  I've  been  lottin'  on  dewing  it  for 
a  long  time  now,  an'  I'm  lookin'  into  it  a  little. 
I  haint  really  done  it  yet — I  signed  nuthin'.  I 
told  'em  what  they  could  do,  that's  all,"  he 
hastened  to  explain. 

"Lottin  on  it!  I'm  not  lottin'  on  it — you 
may  be,  but  I'm  not,"  and  she  brought  out  the 
"I"  with  emphasis.  "Land  sakes!  I  rather 
have  the  money  to  keep  us  out  of  the  poorhouse, 
instead  of  piling  it  up  there  in  a  new  fangled 
tomb-stun.  We've  got  nobody  to  be  weeping 


200  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

around    anyway."     The    old    lady   lifted   her 
glasses  to  wipe  away  her  tears. 

" There,  there,  Ma,  don't  take  on  so.  I  can 
tell  'em  not  to  bring  it.  I  ain't  signed  nuthin'." 

"No,  but  your  sot  on  havin'  it,  and  it's  just 
sinful  vanity.  I'd  a  good  sight  rather  other 
people  would  put  up  my  monument.  If  they 
can't  remember  us  without  a  tomb-stun,  it'll 
take  more'n  that  to  make  'em  do  it.  Oh,  my 
head  is  going  to  bust ! ' '  and  rocking  to  and  fro, 
the  old  invalid  pressed  her  hands  to  her  tem- 
ples. 

"But  Ma,  Squire  Brainard  set  up  his  tomb- 
stun  an'  nobody  said  nuthin',"  the  husband 
urged. 

"There,  there,  never  mind,  never  mind, 
'nough  said.  Pa,  you  put  the  kettle  bilin'  for 
some  tea."  Glad  to  escape,  the  old  man  shuf- 
fled from  the  room. 

The  monument  however,  remained  the  one 
great  item  in  Joel  Rigby's  mind  during  the 
days  that  intervened  the  agent's  visit  and 
Decoration  Day.  If  the  promises  were  kept, 
the  ever-enduring  granite  block  would  mark, 
with  dignity  and  good  taste  the  last  resting 
place  of  the  Rigby  family.  He  hoped  nothing 
would  happen.  Surely  nothing  could  happen — 
to  him  or  anybody  in  so  short  a  time. 

Somewhere  ' '  out  West ' '  a  daughter,  the  only 
child  that  had  blessed  their  home,  was  sleeping 
in  the  peace  of  the  grave,  and  though  years  had 
flown,  Joel  thought  how  fitting  and  appropri- 


JOEL   RIGBY'S  MONUMENT.  201 

ate  it  would  be  to  have  Ludencia  removed  and 
brought  home  to  rest  along  with  Pa  and  Ma, 
and  where  the  new  monument  would,  by  Deco- 
ration Day,  mark  well  the  family  burial  place. 
All  this  however,  was  dismissed  with  a  sigh. 
He  did  not  know  how  Ma  would  take  it,  and 
then  too,  there  was  the  expense.  They  never 
heard  from  Jim,  Ludencia 's  husband.  Jim 
might  object  to  such  a  plan.  Ma  had  opposed 
Jim.  He  was  not  good  enough  for  Ludencia, 
she  said,  but  the  girl  had  a  will  and  a  mind  of 
her  own.  Some  said  she  came  honestly  by  it. 
For  his  part  he  liked  Jim  well  enough.  In  the 
parlor  there  was  a  daguerreotype  picture  of 
Jim  and  Ludencia  just  after  they  went  away. 
There  had  been  no  wedding.  They  just  drove 
away  and  were  married,  hardly  saying  good  bye 
to  the  old  folks.  Ludencia  had  written  sending 
the  picture,  saying  how  happy  she  was  and 
asking  forgiveness.  They  never  wrote  letters, 
and  "out  West"  somewhere  was  almost  out  of 
the  world.  It  was  out  of  their  world — his 
world — Ma's  world. 

The  next  news  had  been  a  letter  from  Jim. 
Ludencia  had  died  giving  birth  to  a  little 
daughter.  Ma  had  taken  to  her  chair  soon 
after  that.  They  did  not  reply  to  Jim 's  letter. 
They  talked  it  over,  talked  about  writing  or 
having  the  squire  at  the  Corners  write,  but  it 
never  came  to  anything.  Maybe  the  child  was 
dead  too  by  this  time.  It  would  be  time  enough 
to  find  this  grandchild  after  they  were  gone. 
Let  the  squire  attend  to  that. 


202  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

Only  once  since  the  agent's  visit  had  the  old 
lady  referred  again  to  the  monument.  "Pa," 
she  said,  "be  you  sot  on  gettin'  the 
monument  ? ' ' 

'  '  Ma,  we  aint  got  much  longer  to  stay  here. ' ' 
The  poor  old  man's  voice  trembled  and  a  tear 
stole  down  his  withered  cheek.  "And  besides, 
I'd  feel  more  comfortable  like  if  we  could  use 
a  little  of  what  we've  got  laid  by  in  this  way. 
Then  too,  we've  got  nobody  to  dew  for  us  and 
nobody  to  do  for,  except  ma 'be  the  child." 
They  sometimes  spoke  of  "the  child"  or  "Lu- 
dencia's  child."  They  had  never  known  her 
name. 

"Never  mind,  never  mind,  there,  there, 
'nough  said.  I  shall  have  a  spell  if  you  keep 
on,"  and  she  motioned  him  away.  The  order 
for  monument  No.  241  he  knew  was  sealed. 

On  the  morning  of  the  eventful  day  that  was 
to  bring  the  monument,  Joel  Rigby  came  bust- 
ling in  from  the  barn  with  more  than  his  usual 
alacrity.  He  had  news  from  the  agent.  A 
messenger  told  him  to  come  down  to  the  ceme- 
tery at  once. 

"Ma,"  he  said,  "the  monument's  come." 

The  old  lady  heard  with  eyelids  closed — an 
indifference  entirely  assumed  to  dampen  the 
old  man's  excitement.  She  thought  him 
worldly  to  be  so  much  concerned  about  such  a 
thing. 

"Ma,"  coming  closer,  "it's  come." 

"Land  sakes,  Pa,  you  act  like  a  four  year  old 


JOEL   RIGBY'S  MONUMENT.  203 

boy.  You'd  better  send  the  money  to  convert 
the  heathen.  I'm  glad  I  aint  got  it  to  answer 
for." 

The  old  man  fumbled  with  his  hat  a  moment 
and  muttered  something  about  going  down  to 
"show  'em  how  to  sot  it  up." 

Old  Billy  was  hitched  up  in  short  order  and 
the  wobbly  old  buggy  was  soon  sheltered  in  the 
"meetin'  house"  shed,  and  Joel  was  helping 
at  the  job  of  setting  up  his  own  monument. 

At  last  when  the  final  stroke  was  done,  the 
money  paid,  the  workmen  and  the  agent  gone, 
the  old  man  still  stood  looking  at  the  stone, 
reading  the  names  and  birth  dates.  Now  and 
then  his  hands  smoothed  down  the  sloping 
sides  as  if  to  caress  it.  "Rigby"  he  repeated, 
looking  down  as  he  read  the  bold  letters  at  the 
base.  "Rigby"  he  said  again,  and  his  tired 
head  rested  against  the  polished  surface  where 
the  names  had  been  cut.  It  was  all  there  ex- 
cept the  date  of  death.  That  might  not  be 
long  he  thought.  Another  year  perhaps,  they 
would  come  and  cut  the  date.  "Joel  Rigby, 

Born  August  5th,  1819.  Died , ".  It 

was  Decoration  Day  now  in  his  fancy.  He 
thought  he  saw  the  comrades,  many  old  and 
bent  like  himself,  coming  to  lay  a  wreath  on 
his  grave.  He  heard  the  fife  and  drum.  The 
old  G.  A.  R.  boys  were  marching,  the  ladies' 
Corps  following  proudly  in  the  rear.  Flags, 
big  and  little,  everywhere  waving.  They  did 
not  mind  the  dusty  road  or  the  warm  sun.  It 
was  a  duty  they  loved  and  none  too  feeble  to 


204  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

make  that  little  yearly  march  from  the  hall  to 
the  graves,  and  back  to  the  hall  again. 

Leaning  now  against  the  monument  the  old 
man  fancied  he  heard  voices  calling  him,  Lu- 
dencia's  among  them.  Yes,  it  was  Ludencia. 
She  was  running  down  to  the  gate  to  meet  him, 
calling  "Oh  dad,  I'm  glad  you've  come.  Sup- 
per is  all  ready.  My  but  you  look  tired ! ' ' 

How  tired  he  felt.  Pulling  at  those  ropes 
and  levers  with  the  men,  was  a  young  man's 
work.  He  was  surely  an  old  man  now.  He 
heard  the  girl  still  talking.  He  felt  her  hand 
in  his,  but  the  other  voices  would  not  be  quiet. 
If  they  would  only  let  him  rest.  Rest,  that 
was  all  he  asked. 

Down  the  tired  old  man  slowly  settled,  half 
sitting  at  the  side  of  the  new  monument.  There 
he  lay  hour  after  hour,  so  still  and  at  peace. 
It  was  the  peace  of  death. 

Old  Billy,  calling  and  pawing  in  the  church 
shed  caused  the  villagers  to  wonder.  The  next 
morning  they  found  the  old  man  dead  beside 
the  stone  to  mark  his  grave.  On  Decoration 
Day  they  laid  him  there,  with  flags  at  his  head. 
They  marched  again  with  fife  and  drum,  but 
someway  death  seemed  so  near,  the  ranks  of 
the  marchers  growing  fewer  every  year,  that 
little  but  sorrow  stirred  their  minds.  Patriot- 
ism is  always  tinged  with  grief. 


On  the  day  of  the  monument  setting,  at  the 
farm  house  a  mile  or  more  away,  the  old  lady 
rocked  back  and  forth  in  her  chair,  gently  to 


JOEL   BIGBY'S  MONUMENT.  205 

be  sure,  but  restlessly,  wondering  why  Pa  did 
not  come.  The  hired  woman  must  look  every 
now  and  then  to  see  if  there  was  sight  of  him. 
She  must  be  sure  and  have  tea  ready,  as  Pa 
would  be  tired. 

She  did  not  realize  that  the  old  man  was 
tired  no  more;  that  somewhere  he  was  even 
then  rejoicing  and  awaiting  her  soon-coming 
with  Ludencia  and  the  angels. 


How  and  Why  I  Failed  as  a 
Wife. 


It  has  always  been  one  of  my  fixed  inten- 
tions, to  which  I  have  religiously  adhered, 
never  to  "tell  things"  about  my  husband  to 
anyone,  not  even  to  my  own  mother.  I  have 
also  included  in  this  my  mother-in-law.  The 
day  I  was  married  my  mother  said,  "Now  you 
have  made  your  bed,  lie  in  it. ' '  It  matters  not 
how  fully  we  girls  made  confidantes  of  each 
other  and  our  mother,  a  practice  I  always  sup- 
posed was  a  sign  of  good  moral  health,  we 
ended  these  confidences  about  the  sacred  per- 
sonal matters  of  the  married  relation,  before 
they  began. 

I  have  many  times  held  in  contempt  those 
wives  who  prattle  about  their  husbands  and  all 
their  petty  trials  with  them.  I  have  been 
shocked  at  the  abandon  displayed  by  some — 
really  vulgar  talk — talk  that  I  have  heard 
wives  carry  on  in  their  confidential  gossips 
over  their  teacups.  Of  what  husbands  say 
about  wives  I  know  nothing,  or  knew  nothing 
until  now. 

*  What  shall  I  say  then,  when  I  have  read 
what  my  own  husband,  Hugh  Stunt,  M.  D.,  puts 

*  NOTE: — The  author  here  has  reference  to  an 
article  published  by  Dr.  Stunt  telling  his  experience 
as  the  husband  of  a  "clinging  vine." 


208  WAYSIDE  EXPEEIENCES. 

in  print — things  that  I  have  not  dared  to 
breathe  to  my  own  mother.  At  first  I  was 
desperate,  but  now  after  more  careful  consid- 
eration of  all  things,  I  have  decided  to  turn 
the  trick.  I  will  give  him  a  liberal  dose  of 
his  own  medicine.  Doctor's  don't  like  to  take 
medicine  as  a  rule.  They  have  no  use  for  it 
but  to  give  to  others.  I  took  mine  with  many 
tears — that  is  a  woman's  way — her  privilege, 
but  I  have  said  nothing  to  Hugh.  I  shall  say 
nothing  even  after  this  appears  unless  he  be- 
gins it. 

I  was  no  more  surprised  when  I  read  Hugh's 
"Clinging  Vine"  story  than  he  will  be  when 
he  reads  my  come  back.  I  would  have  nothing 
to  say  as  far  as  I  am  concerned  personally,  for 
I  know  our  case  involves  all  those  technical 
points  of  sex  psychology  that  my  husband, 
Dr.  Hugh,  a  man  devoted  to  his  science,  should 
understand  very  well.  It  is  for  the  sake  of 
other  "clinging  vines"  like  me,  I  am  going  to 
tell  the  "other  side  of  the  story."  I  am  not 
going  to  say  Hugh  Stunt  was  a  spoiled  youth, 
fed  on  great  and  glorious  prophecies  until  his 
ego  swelled  abnormally.  I  am  not  saying  he 
was  a  pampered,  idolized,  egoized  son  of  doting 
parents,  who  never  allowed  him  to  know  what 
a  dollar  costs  by  earning  it,  as  Sam  Smith's 
did — the  classmate  he  tells  us  about,  who  now 
makes  ten  thousand  a  year  clear,  while  he 
makes  but  three.  I  am  not  going  to  say  dear 
Hugh  is  jealous  of  other  men's  success  and  is 
looking  for  the  "goat";  that  poor  little  wife 


HOW  AND   WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.   209 

Gabrielle,  who  for  nearly  ten  years  has  been 
his  cook  and  bottle-washer,  errandboy  and 
nursemaid,  yet,  on  his  own  admission,  a  suc- 
cessful wife  socially  and  morally — she,  Gabri- 
elle must  be  the  goat — I  am  not  saying  any  of 
these  things.  I  shall  not  say  anything  resent- 
fully or  with  the  sting  of  revenge  in  it,  for  I  still 
love  my  husband  and  his  silly  little  clinging 
vine  story  is  but  the  outburst  of  one  of  his 
moods.  It  was  hatched  in  a  funk  the  day  he 
heard  from  Dr.  Sam  Smith  about  the  thousand 
dollar  fee  he  (Dr.  Stunt)  did  not  get  and  was 
not  in  a  position  to  get.  That  fee  story  sent 
Dr.  Hugh  to  his  den  in  great  pique  and  there 
he  healed  it  by  committing  to  paper  some  of 
the  most  sacred  and  private  things — psychic 
things  of  two  family  lives. 

His  good  mother,  my  mother-in-law,  charges 
me  with  having  no  respect  for  the  privacies  of 
others.  I  wonder  what  she  will  say  of  Hugh 
now,  who  has  put  in  cold  print  many  things  I 
never  would  have  dared  to  mention  or  cared 
to  mention,  but  to  him.  But  the  worm  turns — 
the  clinging  vine  may  become  a  tree,  or  may 
not  have  been  a  vine  at  all.  The  privacies  my 
story  will  reveal  are  all  honorable  and  inno- 
cent ones,  and  I  run  no  risk  in  writing  of  them 
for  I  have  no  reputation  to  lose  it  seems.  I 
may  have  a  chance  to  gain  some  poor  wife's 
thanks — one  who  loves  her  husband  but  who 
does  not  know  how  to  manage  him  and  make 
a  great  financial  success  out  of  him,  as  Hugh 
says  Sam  Smith's  "deadly  competent  school 


210  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

teacher"  wife  did  with  him.  What  a  misfor- 
tune it  is  that  men  are  made  or  unmade  by 
their  wives.  Poor  tender  dears — I  never  real- 
ized before  what  a  responsibility  we  wives  of 
men  carry  on  our  heads! 

The  truth  is  doctors  are  a  jealous,  punctili- 
ous lot,  and  my  Hugh  is  the  best  sample  I 
know.  They  lay  claim  to  a  vast  amount  of 
fraternalism  but  it  is  on  par  with  what  is  said 
of  beauty — it  is  only  skin  deep.  Most  of  them 
are  great  bluffers  and  self-puffers.  If  one  gets 
an  unusually  large  fee  the  other  fellows  go 
home,  lock  themselves  in  and  write  nasty 
tirades  about  their  wives,  talk  strong  enough 
to  call  for  weapons  had  another  said  half  as 
much  and  half  as  bad.  Those  who  do  not  gain 
their  mental  balance  by  this  method,  have 
other  equally  desperate  and  foolish  ones.  They 
just  have  to  obtain  vent  someway. 

Nor  would  I  have  you  suppose  that  Dr.  Hugh 
Stunt — my  husband,  whom  I  took  for  "better 
or  for  worse"  and  all  that,  really  thinks  that 
success  in  life  is  measured  by  dollars  and  cents 
merely,  though  I  admit  his  story  sounds  that 
way.  Hugh  is  not  paranoiac — these  mental  ab- 
errations are  only  temporary.  Time  and 
again  I  have  heard  him  say  that  many  poor 
men  were  a  greater  success  than  many  rich 
ones.  Success  he  often  declaims,  when  it  fits 
his  mood,  is  that  measure  of  which  we  radiate 
joy,  love,  goodwill — the  cheer  we  inspire — the 
help  we  lend  others — the  story  of  what  we 
shed  off,  not  what  we  gather  in  to  hoard  and 


HOW   AND   WHY   T  FAILED  AS   A  WIFE.   211 

keep.  If  I  were  to  tell  you  of  the  many  cases 
he  has  treated  free  of  charge,  of  the  thousands 
of  dollars  he  has  never  collected  from  poor  peo- 
ple of  our  town,  and  how  stubbornly  he  resents 
my  "meddling  with  his  business,"  and  how 
vigorously  he  insists  that  his  home  life  and  his 
practice  must  be  as  historically  divorced  as  is 
the  church  and  state  in  America,  you  might 
understand  more  readily  why  his  income 
slumps  to  about  three  thousand  a  year,  while 
his  colleague  Sam's  runs  around  ten  thousand 
a  year.  Hugh  would  not  stand  one  minute  to 
have  me  "butt  in"  about  collecting  his  bills. 
He  does  not  respect  Mrs.  Dr.  Sam  for  her  ac- 
tivities. He  has  said  in  my  hearing  that  it 
commercialized  the  profession,  cheapend  it,  de- 
graded it  into  a  mere  money  making  trade. 
Hugh  is  wonderfully  ethical — indeed  I  fear 
more  of  a  stickler  about  all  those  delicate 
points  of  the  professional  code  than  the  usual 
run  of  doctors,  yet  he  fails  to  see  how  much 
it  costs  him  to  be  so  traditionally  ethical,  and 
blames  poor  me  for  the  loss. 

I  am,  therefore  for  all  these  reasons  and  still 
other  reasons,  going  to  tell  my  side  of  the  story 
and  let  you  decide  if  I  am  a  "clinging  vine," 
a  living  burden  and  a  deadly  hindrance  to  a 
natural  monarch  of  the  forest,  or  perchance,  a 
weeping  willow  standing  by  the  side  of  a  com- 
mon scrub  oak.  Remember  these  are  Hugh's 
metaphors,  not  mine. 

There  are  too  many  Hugh  Stunts  at  large 
in  our  beloved  land  to  allow  such  a  message  as 


212  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

his  to  pass  unchallenged.  Too  many  men  are 
so  besotted  with  self-esteem  which  they  cannot 
turn  into  cash,  that  thousands  of  Gabrielles 
are  in  great  peril  unless  I  administer  my  anti- 
dote— anti-toxine  or  whatever  it  may  be — my 
side  of  the  story.  I'll  trust  it  to  have  some 
neutralizing  effect  anyway. 


II 

My  father  was  a  farmer's  son  and  my  mother 
a  country  girl.  They  were  married  early  in 
life  and  I  was  the  third  of  four  daughters  to 
branch  out  on  the  family  tree.  When  we  were 
old  enough  to  need  better  school  advantages 
my  father  sold  his  little  property  and  business 
at  the  cross-roads  and  we  moved  to  town.  It 
was  largely  for  our  supposed  benefit  that  this 
change  was  made.  My  father  then  started  a 
feed  and  coal  business,  small  at  first,  but  it 
soon  grew  into  some  importance  in  a  few 
years.  My  father  was  and  is  still  a  genial  man, 
honest  and  agreeable;  he  makes  friends  and 
customers  by  square  dealing.  This  plan  of 
business,  however,  never  lifted  the  family 
much  above  the  hand-to-mouth  stage.  We 
had  a  comfortable  small  home  which  was  our 
own.  It  was  not  a  very  modern  house,  and 
father  had  bought  it  cheaply  on  that  account 
no  doubt.  The  second  floor  space  was  unequal- 
ly divided.  The  smallest  of  the  three  bedrooms 
we  kept  for  what  we  called  our  guest  chamber. 
The  next  in  size  was  father's  and  mother's 
room,  and  the  other,  the  large  one,  was  "our 


HOW  AND   WHY   I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.  213 

room."  I  do  not  need  to  dwell  long  upon  this 
home  picture  to  show  the  reason,  or  reasons, 
why  four  girls  "herded"  in  one  room,  two  in 
a  bed.  I  well  remember  when  Mother  Stunt 
"third  degreed"  all  these  things  out  of  me, 
when  I  went  that  week  for  my  official  try-out. 
But  of  that  when  I  get  to  it. 

My  father  was  a  good  business  man,  and  I 
am  sure  mother  will  say,  a  good  husband.  We 
had  no  fixed  income.  I  remember  how  father 
used  to  say  often  of  a  Saturday  night,  "Well, 
Milly" — mother's  name — "business  was  good 
this  week.  What  do  we  need?" 

Then  mother  would  get  out  her  list.  Shoes 
for  Gabrielle;  new  hat  for  this  one;  coats  all 
around;  such  and  such  groceries,  etc.  My 
father  was  what  is  called  a  good  provider,  and 
four  growing  girls  needed  much  and  many 
things.  As  we  grew  older  our  needs  seemed 
to  increase.  My  father  is  a  good  business  man. 
I  say  so,  and  all  who  know  him,  say  so.  He 
always  bought  and  sold  for  cash,  and  followed 
the  rule  of  "pay  as  you  go  or  don't  go."  He 
kept  his  books  carefully  at  the  feed  store,  and 
later  when  the  business  grew,  had  them  kept 
by  bookkeepers.  He  knew  his  expense  account 
by  items:  freight,  delivery,  payroll,  house  and 
home,  etc.  When  the  profit  was  good  the 
"house  and  home"  account  went  up;  if  profits 
went  down,  this  fluctuating  account  had  to 
shrink.  That  is,  we  waited  for  new  things  to 
wear,  bought  less  and  cheaper  things  for  the 
table,  and  kept  under  the  line. 


214  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

I  never  learned  the  details  of  this  bookkeep- 
ing, but  I  knew  its  general  principles  and  pur- 
port. It  was  to  live  within  your  income  or 
profits  and  save  a  reasonable  margin  for  the 
rainy  day.  Mother  was  a  prudent  woman, 
provident  but  not  penurious,  liberal  not  lavish, 
saving  without  parsimony.  We  were  taught 
as  children  to  avoid  the  penny-wise-pound- 
foolish  system.  My  father  used  to  say,  "Some 
people  waste  a  dollar's  worth  of  time  and  en- 
ergy trying  to  save  a  penny."  He  carried  the 
idea  of,  not  what  number  of  cents  can  you 
scrimp  out  of  your  income,  but  how  many 
clean,  honest  dollars  can  you  add  to  it,  each 
week.  He  often  talked  of  people  who  kept 
themselves  so  busy  watching  pennies  that  great 
opportunities  for  good  dollars  passed  by  them 
unseen.  There  is  a  point  at  which  saving 
ceases  to  be  a  virtue.  It  may  become  merely 
a  penurious  habit.  This  was  his  teaching. 

I  have  gone  into  these  personalities  to  show 
what  a  different  heredity  fell  to  my  lot  than 
to  Hugh's.  I  say  heredity,  but  I  may  as  well 
add  training  also.  We  are  all  inclined  to  think 
our  own  brand  of  these  heredity  goods  the  best 
on  the  market,  as  you  may  notice  from  the 
other  story,  yet  with  all  due  allowance  for  my 
bias,  I  will  always  insist  that  my  father  was 
and  is  a  good  business  man  and  did  well  by 
his  children.  Neither  do  I  wish  to  condemn 
Hugh's  heredity  and  home  training.  I  merely 
want  to  contrast  it  and  hint  perhaps — well, 
that  there  is  some  truth  in  the  saying  about 


HOW   AND  WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.  215 

people  thinking  all  ways  and  habits  are  vicious 
but  their  own. 

The  income  of  the  Stunt  home  was  a  stated 
salary.  Hugh's  father  knew  to  the  cent  what 
to  count  upon  and  the  very  day  to  expect  it. 
It  was  fixed  and  certain.  Expenses  are  not 
fixed  and  are  certain  to  increase,  unless  careful 
watch  is  kept  by  methods  of  record  and  com- 
parison. Once  a  month  Prof.  Stunt  received 
his  salary  check  and  brought  it  home  to  his 
wife,  who  proceeded  to  dissect  it  into  the  vari- 
ous parts  and  portions  designed  for  the  several 
uses  and  purposes  of  the  family.  A  few  years 
of  this  simple  process  fixed  upon  Hugh's  father 
a  chronic  salary  habit,  and  upon  the  rest  of  the 
family,  especially  his  wife,  certain  very  nar- 
row-minded notions  about  domestic  economy  in 
general.  A  New  England  Yankee — you  recall 
that  my  mother  Stunt  is  of  Boston  origin — is 
one  of  those  especially  inclined  to  think  no 
ways  but  his  are  right.  I  admit  that  baked 
beans  and  brown  bread  are  good  and  whole- 
some items  of  civilized  diet,  but  why  Saturday 
night  and  Sunday  morning  is  the  only  right 
time  in  the  week  to  eat  these  substantial  deli- 
cacies remains  to  me  an  unsolved  mystery.  Not 
so  to  a  Bostonian.  That  has  been  a  settled  fact 
of  history  for  centuries ! 

This  Boston  bean  mystery  is  no  more  difficult 
to  understand,  however,  than  why  Wednesday 
evening  and  no  other  evening,  could  be  utilized 
by  my  mother-in-law  to  post  her  account  book. 
I  know  my  bookkeeper  sister  laughed  when  I 


216  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

told  her  about  it  and  said,  five  minutes  a  day 
and  half  an  hour  a  week  or  month  for  footings 
and  comparisons,  would  be  plenty  of  time  in 
which  to  keep  the  record  of  any  family  house- 
hold accounts.  What  interested  me  was  the 
habit — a  thing  so  sacred  it  came  before  all 
other  social  or  religious  duties,  and  amounts 
to  an  eccentricity  if  not  indeed  to  a  mania — a 
mild  monomania. 

I  was  not  as  wise  then  at  nineteen,  when  I 
spent  that  "official  try-out  week"  with  mother 
Stunt  as  I  am  now  at  twenty-nine.  I  did  not 
realize  the  meaning  of  it  all.  I  might  have 
been  more  tactful,  yes,  deceitful.  I  could  have 
said,  "What  a  fine  system.  Teach  me  how  to 
do  it,"  etc.,  yet  knowing  well  all  the  things  I 
have  herein  stated.  I  had  been  taught  that 
honesty  and  sincerity  were  virtues,  so  it  was 
easy  for  my  prospective  mother-in-law  to  find 
flaws  in  my  mental  equipment — flaws  as  she 
would  judge,  because  no  ways  and  habits  of 
life  were  right,  but  her  own. 

I  believe  thousands  of  wives  will  agree  with 
me  that  it  is  a  question  whose  home  methods 
were  the  better,  Hugh's  or  mine,  yet  it  is  easy 
for  all  to  admit  each  system  was  suited  to  the 
home  it  served.  However,  I  think  I  have  the 
best  of  the  argument,  when  I  hold  that,  like 
my  father,  Dr.  Hugh  Stunt  has  no  fixed  income. 
As  a  business  for  getting  cash  medical  practice 
is  irregular  and  uncertain,  often  fluctuating, 
even  more  so  than  the  profits  from  a  feed  and 
coal  business.  I  do  not  think  anyone  will  deny 


HOW  AND   WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.   217 

it   was   a   hard   position   for  me   to   fill    as   a 
sensitive  high-strung  girl  of  nineteen. 

There  is  a  point  my  dear  Hugh  has  lost  sight 
of  that  I  wish  to  mention  here.  These  very 
habits  of  life  that  naturally  follow  and  influ- 
ence the  whole  family — one  might  say  infect — 
of  a  salary  habit  victim,  followed  my  husband 
into  his  professional  career.  Had  he  been 
reared  in  the  home  of  Sam  Smith,  whose 
father,  like  mine,  looked  for  his  income  in  the 
profit  from  a  job  of  work  or  a  car  of  coal,  it 
would  not  have  been  so  hard  for  him  or  for 
me.  Dr.  Sam  is  not  only  a  good  doctor — he 
is  a  good  business  schemer.  He  does  not  lose 
sight  of  the  "main  chance."  They  see  differ- 
ent visions.  My  Hugh  sees  an  interesting  case, 
a  brilliant  diagnosis.  Dr.  Sam  sees  a  good  fee 
also,  and  looks  well  to  its  collection.  Could  it 
be  expected  of  me,  a  girl  of  nineteen,  to  change 
all  this  in  my  husband?  He  was  ten  years 
my  senior,  and  had  I  not  been  so  blindly  in 
love  with  him,  had  I  not  thought  him  so  ideal 
and  so  perfect,  had  I  had  the  wisdom  to  recog- 
nize his  needs  then,  do  you  imagine  he  would 
have  accepted  any  suggestion  from  me?  Do 
you? 

Right  here  I  am  going  to  say  about  the  hard- 
est thing  in  all  my  part  of  the  story.  Do  you 
think  it  manly  and  honorable  for  my  husband 
to  whimper  like  a  sick  pup,  and  lay  the  blame  of 
what  he  calls  his  failure  in  life  upon  his  wife, 
who  has  loved  him  almost  to  folly?  Another 
thing:  What  do  you  think  of  a  man  who  at 


218  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

thirty-nine  calls  himself  a  failure  because  his  in- 
come is  not  as  much  as  some  other  fellow's  he 
knows,  who  he  says — wonder  how  he  found  it 
out — is  not  as  good  a  man  as  he?  What  do 
you  think  of  a  man  who  rails  at  his  wife  be- 
cause she  does  not  insist  upon  buying  his  socks 
and  suspenders  and  who  tries  to  dress  herself 
to  please  him  instead  of  other  men ;  who  blames 
her  because  she  does  not  pack  him  off  for  a 
post  graduate  course  in  Europe?  If  you  were 
an  Englishman  wouldn't  you  call  him  a  bally 
ass? 

My  Hugh  should  head  the  Suffragette  move- 
ment. He  thinks  wives  and  mothers,  should 
recognize  their  obligations  in  the  making  of 
successful  husbands. 


Ill 

But  I  must  not  get  ahead  of  my  story.  As 
fast  as  we  graduated  from  High  School  father 
gave  each  of  us  a  chance  to  select  what  might 
be  termed  a  calling.  Mother  had  always 
taught  us  that  the  best  calling  a  girl  could 
aspire  to  was  that  of  being  a  successful  wife 
and  mother — a  real  home  keeper.  To  that  end 
we  all  knew  how  to  do  housework — plain  house- 
work with  no  fancy  frills  or  names  attached  to 
it.  We  knew  what  order  and  cleanliness 
meant,  though  a  speck  of  dust  made  no  such 
marked  disturbance  in  our  home  as  it  did  at 
Prof.  Stunt 's.  Mother  often  said,  ' '  The  reason 
why  many  men  have  their  dens  and  clubs  is. 


HOW  AND   WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.   219 

they  are  driven  out  of  the  house  by  nagging 
wives  who  give  them  no  peace  at  home  to  be 
natural  and  easy,  contented  and  restful  when 
they  want  to  relax  and  smoke."  My  experi- 
ence might  cause  me  to  add :  Wives  who  want 
to  be  queens  of  homes  are  apt  to  be  despots 
also. 

My  two  elder  sisters  did  not  choose  to  accept 
offers  of  marriage,  and  after  study  at  business 
college,  have  filled  business  positions  and  are 
self-supporting,  thus  saving  at  least  two  good 
men  from  the  burden  of  " clinging  vines" — we 
are  all  of  that  type  remember.  I,  the  sup- 
posed to  be.  best  looking  of  the  group,  fancied 
I  would  like  to  try  music  as  a  career,  and  I 
was  in  the  process  of  making  when  Hugh 
Stunt  came  into  my  life.  I  had  really  "grown 
up"  while  he  was  away  at  medical  college. 
We  knew  him  or  of  him,  and,  as  everybody 
knew  and  loved  the  old  professor,  the  son  was 
more  or  less  a  local  celebrity. 

I  was  immensely  flattered  when  he  began  to 
show  an  interest  in  me.  I  am  not  going  into 
the  details  of  that  year  of  courtship.  I  can't 
do  it — I  count  it  too  sacred  to  put  on  paper. 
It  is  enough  to  say  we  became  engaged.  This 
event  seems  to  have  wrecked  two  great  careers, 
Hugh's  in  medicine  and  mine  in  music.  I  am 
not  dwelling  on  the  promise  I  gave  my  teachers 
of  developing  great  talent.  They  talked  to 
me  of  an  operatic  future.  I  could  sing  well 
and  can  yet.  My  piano  technique  also,  was 
much  praised.  I  could  not  charge — I  would 


220  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

not  say  that  my  dear  Hugh  has  stood  in  my 
way  of  becoming  a  professional  performer  in 
either  line  of  my  art.  I  had  my  doubts  and 
still  have,  about  my  making  any  real  success 
in  such  a  career.  I  knew  what  a  slave-like 
struggle  it  meant — what  years  of  grinding 
work,  what  constant  devotion  it  demanded, 
what  rigid  codes  of  living,  hygiene,  diet  and 
all  that,  which  such  an  undertaking  requires. 
Luckily  I  was  not  inflated  with  the  praise  my 
amateur  efforts  called  forth  from  biased  and  in- 
competent friends  and  relatives.  Luckily  I 
say,  for  I  know  now  how  such  hopes  unrealized 
have  soured  my  husband's  soul,  when  they 
were  encouraged  in  him.  Better  I  thought,  to 
be  the  wife  of  the  man  I  love,  the  mother  of 
his  children  and  the  maker  of  his  home,  than 
chance  failure  in  music. 

One  day  father  said  to  me,  "Gabby,  Dr. 
Hugh  Stunt  was  in  to  see  me  today  and  says 
he  wants  to  marry  you.  How  about  it?" 

I  knew  it  was  coming,  still  I  felt  my  face 
grow  hot. 

"Yes,  Pa,  he's  asked  me." 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"Why,  I — I  said  I  would,"  I  stammered. 

"Then  what's  the  use  his  coming  to  me  if 
you  two  had  settled  it  already?"  He  was 
laughing  so  I  knew  he  was  teasing  me. 

"Now,  Pa,  stop.  You  know  how  it  is.  We 
want  everybody's  approval.  That  is  why 
Hugh  came  to  you.  Don't  you  like  him,  Pa?" 


HOW   AND  WHY   I  FAILED  AS  A   WIFE.  221 

"Oh,  yes,  I  like  him — well  enough.  I'm  not 
marrying  him  though,  so  it  don't  matter  much 
whether  I  like  him  or  not.  People  speak  well 
of  him.  Seems  a  nervous  chap  and  has  a  case 
of  big  head,  but  they  seem  to  need  it  now 
days." 

That  same  day  mother  and  I  had  a  long 
talk  and  a  few  happy  tears  together.  Among 
many  other  things  she  said  to  me,  I  remember 
this  : 

li  Gabby,  since  you  and  Hugh  have  been 
keeping  company  I  have  tried  to  find  out  what 
I  could  about  him  for  your  benefit.  I  do  not 
suppose  a  girl  in  love  could  accept  advice,  but 
I'll  do  my  duty  by  you  anyway.  Hugh  Stunt 
has  lived  a  very  different  home  life  than  you. 
It  has  been  a  home  in  which  what  they  call 
culture  has  always  been  emphasized.  The 
Stunts  are  mental  aristocrats  and  had  they 
been  wealthy  they  would  have  been  very  ex- 
clusive. I  think  you  will  discover  that  his 
mother  will  consider  he  is  marrying  beneath 
him  when  he  marries  you.  What  Hugh  really 
needs  is  a  wife  who  can  bring  to  him  ample 
means  to  continue  along  the  same  trend  of 
life." 

"But  Mother,  we  are  just  as  good  as  they 
are,"  I  interrupted. 

"Yes,  as  we  see  it,  but — well,  you  will  under- 
stand later.  Love  is  a  great  leveler,  and  it  may 
do  the  thing,  if  you  are  both  really  in  love 
with  each  other.  As  near  as  I  can  learn  Hugh 
has  always  been  a  nervous  boy,  subject  to  fits 


222  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

of  temper,  tantrums  some  folks  call  it — and — 
I  hope  he  has  or  will  outgrow  it.  He  has  been 
so  bright  at  school  that  great  things  have  been 
predicted  of  him  and  expected  of  him.  He  has 
been  taught  to  think  the  world  should  fall  at 
his  feet,  and  if  it  don't — he  will  blame  the 
world,  the  stupid  world  and  not  himself." 

"Hugh  is  getting  a  good  practice — every- 
body likes  him  and  says  he  is  a  good  doctor," 
I  said. 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  being  a  good  doctor  and 
getting  a  money  success  out  of  it  are  two  differ- 
ent things.  But  I  want  to  speak  of  something 
more  important,  to  you  at  least.  He  will  ex- 
pect you  to  come  and  live  with  his  mother. 
It  would  be  nice  if  you  could  for  she  would 
now  be  left  entirely  alone.  As  to  whether  you 
should  or  could  is  not  for  me  to  say.  One  thing 
I  do  know:  As  the  old  saying  is,  'No  roof  is 
large  enough  to  cover  two  families, '  I  fear  you 
would  have  a  sorry  time.  If  it  turns  out  that 
you  have  to  live  with  Hugh's  mother  I  hope 
it  may  be  for  the  best,  I  hope  so.  I  am  sure 
you  can  get  along  someway,  and  when  she  is 
gone  you  will  not  be  sorry  you  were  good  to 
her  and  humored  her  in  her  ways." 

This  as  I  remember  it,  was  my  mother's 
warning.  You  may  be  sure  I  accepted  Hugh's 
mother's  invitation  to  spend  a  week  with  her 
with  some  fear  and  trembling. 

"I  know  what  she  wants,"  I  told  Hugh. 
"She  wants  to  size  me  up  and  see  what  a  bad 
bargain  you  are  making." 


HOW  AND  WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.  223 

"Nonsense,  Gabrielle,  mother  just  wants  to 
get  better  acquainted  with  you,  since  you  are 
going  to  be  her  daughter.  She  wants  to  know 
you  and  you  to  know  her." 

"I  know  I  shall  feel  as  if  I  were  on  trial 
for  my  life  all  the  time  I  am  there,  but  I  will 
come.  Hugh,  I  love  you  so  much  I  want  to  be 
and  do  just  what  is  best  for  you,"  I  said. 

"I  know  you  do,  dear  heart,  I  know  you 
will." 


IV 

One  of  the  first  things  I  noticed  when  I  en- 
tered Hugh's  home,  or  rather  his  mother's 
home,  was  its  stately  formality.  The  very 
walls  reflected  dignity,  austere  precision  and 
cold  serenity.  Mrs.  Stunt  greeted  me  kindly 
but  without  enthusiasm.  She  did  not  offer  to 
kiss  me,  nor  did  I  her.  We  shook  hands. 

"If  you  are  going  to  be  Hugh's  wife,"  she 
began,  when  we  were  seated  and  the  doctor 
had  gone  about  his  work,  and  continued  with 
what  sounded  to  me  like  a  set  speech  of  the 
lady  chairman  of  the  Women's  League.  I 
never  thought  of  it  then,  but  I  have  since  won- 
dered how  it  happened  that  Hugh  had  such  a 
rush  of  business  that  week.  I  scarcely  saw  him 
during  the  whole  visit. 

"If  you  are  to  be  Hugh's  wife."  I  won- 
dered what  the  "if"  meant.  Had  she  any 
doubts  about  it?  Was  our  engagement  pro- 
visional? If  I  were  not  to  be  his  wife,  what 


224  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

was  I  to  be?  I  had  heard  of  wives  that  were 
their  husbands'  dolls;  others  that  were  called 
clothes  horses,  but  I  was  not  able  to  fathom 
what  my  future  mother-in-law  had  in  her  mind. 
Well,  she  went  on  to  say  how  she  thought  it 
would  be  best  for  us  to  know  each  other  bet- 
ter, especially  if  we  were  going  to  live  to- 
gether. As  she  talked  I  looked  about  me  and 
asked  myself  if  I  could  ever  be  happy  in  that 
house — in  that  atmosphere. 

Day  by  day  my  visit  passed  and  we  got  on 
somehow.  The  only  topic  I  could  introduce  for 
conversation  that  seemed  to  arouse  any  inter- 
est in  her  was  when  we  talked  of  Hugh.  She 
never  called  me  Grabrielle.  I  was  Miss  when 
she  addressed  me.  More  often,  she  would  be- 
gin her  addresses  with  that  impressive  title, 
"Say."  I  was  in  a  flutter  of  fear  and  excite- 
ment all  the  time  I  was  there.  I  wanted  to 
make  a  good  impression  for  Hugh's  sake  as 
well  as  my  own.  I  had  a  feeling  all  the  time 
as  if  she  did  not  want  to  like  me. 

"Oh,  Hugh  is  a  wonderful  boy,"  she  would 
say.  "He  has  such  a  bright  future.  He  has 
great  success  with  his  cases,  and  all  his  faculty 
said  he  would  go  to  the  top  of  his  profession. 
There  are  few  boys  like  Hugh." 

To  hear  all  this  praise  for  the  man  I  loved 
only  pleased  me  and  I  was  a  flattering  listener. 
I  did  not  see  in  it  the  covert  insinuation  that 
he  was  foolish  to  waste  himself  on  such  a  poor 
prospect  as  little  Gabrielle.  It  took  years  for 
that  to  seep  through  my  soul. 


HOW  AND   WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A   WIFE.  225 

One  evening  she  got  out  her  account  book. 
She  opened  it  as  reverently  as  one  would  the 
big  family  Bible. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "I  do  not  think 
young  people  realize  the  meaning — the  finan- 
cial meaning  of  running  a  home.  If  you  and 
Hugh  ever  expect  to  get  on  in  life  and  have 
anything,  you  will  have  to  do  as  I  have  done. 
I  mean  you,  yourself.  I  know  Hugh  better 
than  you  do,  as  I  knew  his  father  before  him. 
If  you  do  not  know  how  and  do  not  manage  the 
purse  you  will  never  have  anything." 

"I  don't  know,"  I  replied.  "Papa  earns 
the  money  at  our  house  and  he  knows  from  the 
condition  of  his  business  what  to  allow  us  to 
spend. ' ' 

"But  I  know,"  she  almost  snapped.  "Those 
who  spend  all  the  business  or  the  law  allows 
never  have  anything  left." 

I  knew  I  had  made  a  blunder  somehow,  and 
explained  that  the  money  getter  should  know 
what  the  home  expense  should  be — what  could 
be  afforded.  I  could  see  she  thought  I  was  too 
dense  to  understand  her.  However,  she  went 
on  to  show  me  how  she  knew  by  her  record 
what  it  had  cost  from  week  to  week  to  live, 
to  run  the  Stunt  home  away  back  year  by  year 
long  before  Hugh  was  born.  I  am  sure  she 
could  have  footed  up  and  told  me  to  the  cent 
just  what  Hugh  had  cost  from  his  birth  to  the 
present  moment.  It  seemed  sordid  to  me,  this 
reducing  of  life  to  mere  dollars  and  cents  and 


226  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

translating  all  its  meaning  into  terms  of 
money. 

"Hugh,  as  I  said,  has  a  great  future  in  his 
profession.  He  is  making  a  great  sacrifice  in 
his  plans  by  marrying  now, ' '  she  said.  I  knew 
Hugh  had  talked  of  going  abroad  to  study  some 
more,  and  I  thought  I  knew  what  she  meant. 

"Do  you  think  I  shall  hinder  him?  If  I 
thought  so  I  would  give  him  up.  I  love  him 
too  well  to  want  to  stand  in  his  way." 

"If  you  get  the  right  idea  of  your  duty 
you  will  help,  not  hinder.  I  am  trying  to  show 
you.  Young  people  in  love  are  blind  to  the 
practical  things  of  life.  Living  costs  just  the 
same.  You  have  got  to  plan  ahead,  look  ahead 
and  provide  for  next  month,  next  year — the 
future." 

Thus  she  went  on  giving  me  a  wholesome 
discourse  on  household  management  and  do- 
mestic economy  in  general.  I  took  it  in  the 
best  I  could.  I  did  not  realize  then  as  I  do 
now,  that  the  habits  this  good  and  capable 
woman  had  established  in  her  household  and 
fixed  in  the  minds  of  its  members,  especially 
my  Hugh's  meant  so  much  to  me.  I  did  not 
realize  then,  as  now,  that  such  women  teach 
their  husbands  to  regard  them  as  official  stew- 
ards, shrewd  buyers,  bargain  hunters,  and  if 
by  all  this  racing  and  chasing  they  obtain  the 
needful  at  less  cost  than  the  month  before  it 
is  a  mark  of  competency. 

Until  now  I  had  supposed  a  successful  house- 
wife secured  her  supplies  and  provisions  by 


HOW  AND  WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.  227 

any  reasonable  and  prudent  plan,  used  these 
things  without  undue  waste,  kept  her  table 
wholesome  and  appetizing,  did  her  housework 
or  saw  it  done  with  regularity,  order  and  neat- 
ness, then  if  she  had  any  spare  time  as  she 
should  have,  she  might  well  spend  it  in  social, 
church  or  other  public  concerns  for  the  good, 
not  only  of  other  people,  but  of  herself  and 
her  husband. 

I  confess  I  went  home  from  this  visit  con- 
siderably muddled. 

1 '  Well,  how  did  you  like  mother  ? ' '  asked 
Hugh  on  his  next  call  at  my  home. 

"She  is  a  lovely  old  lady,"  I  replied. 

"But  how  do  you  like  her?"  he  insisted. 

"Why,  I  like  her— I  like  her  better  than 
she  likes  me." 

"What  do  you  mean?'' 

"I  mean  that  I  will  never  suit  her — no  girl 
is  good  enough,  no  girl  knows  enough  or  has 
the  right  characteristics — the  mind  suited  well 
enough  to  marry  your  mother's  son." 

"Why,  Gabrielle,  how  you  talk!"  he  cried. 

"I  mean  what  I  say.  Your  mother  is  lovely 
to  you,  to  anybody  who  does  not  invade  her 
life  and  yours  as  she  fears  I  am  about  to  do." 

"Nonsense,  sweetheart,  mother  thinks  well 
of  you.  From  all  this  I  take  it,  you  would  not 
like  to  live  with  her  then." 

"Not  if  we  could  do  any  other  way,"  I 
said.  "I'd  rather  have  just  two  rooms  and  be 
by  ourselves  than  a  whole  house  like  yours, 


228  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

where  I  could  not  be  myself  and  meet  my  own 
problems  in  my  own  way." 

"Well,  dear,  I  settled  that  last  night  and  I 
have  come  to  take  you  to  see  the  house  that  is 
to  be  our  home.  Come." 

I  was  perfectly  delighted,  and  we  went  to 
inspect  the  house  Hugh  had  rented.  You  can 
see  how  much  voice  I  had  in  its  selection.  I 
suppose  I  should  have  objected  then  and  in- 
sisted it  was  too  good,  too  expensive  and  made 
him  cancel  his  lease.  Hugh  says  in  his  story 
that  apart  from  my  sisters  I  am  unable  to 
make  any  decision  and  that  I  have  shunted  all 
this  onto  his  shoulders.  He  fails,  like  many 
men  fail,  to  recognize  the  difference  between 
the  desire  to  please  the  one  we  love  and  mental 
incapacity  to  make  a  choice.  However,  in  the 
next  breath  he  says  his  whole  life — married 
life — has  resolved  itself  into  one  choice — 
whether  to  submit  to  me  or  be  a  brute  to  his 
wife.  Such  lovely  consistency!  I  have  always 
submitted  to  him,  just  as  about  the  first  house, 
its  furnishings,  everything.  So  far  I  have  sub- 
mitted to  his  wishes  in  another  matter  so  deli- 
cate and  private  I  hesitate  to  mention  it,  but 
I  will.  All  along  I  have  wanted  a  baby  and 
still  want  one.  What  do  you  suppose  my  bus- 
band  said  when  we  first  talked  it  over?  We 
have  never  mentioned  it  since. 

"Children,  Gabrielle?"  he  said.  "I  gave  up 
going  to  Europe  in  order  to  be  married.  If 
we  start  in  raising  a  family,  I  will  never  be 
able  to  go." 


HOW  AND  WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.   229 

Do  you  blame  me  for  tears?  Do  you  wonder 
that  I  dislike  to  speak  of  these  great  privacies  ? 
So  far  I  have  given  up  what  should  be  the 
greatest  desire  of  a  woman's  heart — mother- 
hood. I  have  laid  all  my  sacrifice  on  the  altar 
of  my  love  for  Hugh.  You  can  see  how  much 
he  appreciates  it.  Now  I  feel  like  saying,  Very 
well,  I  shall  do  so  no  longer.  The  more  you  try 
to  please  some  men  the  more  you  may  try. 
The  more  you  do  for  them  the  more  they  ex- 
pect of  you. 

I  sit  at  home  day  after  day,  often  seeing  no 
one,  waiting  on  my  husband's  return.  Some- 
times I  am  alone  all  or  half  the  night.  Because 
I  have  sometimes  resented  being  alone  so  much 
and  was  demonstrative  of  my  affection  I  got  on 
my  husband's  nerve.  It  seems  he  has  longed 
for  the  cold  uncompromising  austerity  of  his 
mother,  as  the  desert  traveler  longs  for  the 
bracing  wind  from  snow-capped  mountains. 

He  has  no  sympathy  with  the  fact,  that  I 
am  home  all  the  time ;  that  I  need  to  have  out- 
side atmosphere.  I  need  change,  diversion  and 
social  life.  He  meets  people  all  the  day,  and 
wants  to  come  home  and  stay  there  while  he 
may.  Most  of  the  time  I  have  realized  this,  and 
gave  way.  I  have  longed  for  companionship 
and  once  proposed  that  my  youngest  sister 
might  come  and  live  with  us. 

"Gabrielle,"  he  said,  "have  your  sister  if 
you  must,  but  really  we  cannot  afford  to  in- 
crease the  expenses.  Besides,  1  did  not  marry 
the  whole  family." 


230  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

Thus  the  matter  rested.  I  have  lived  alone, 
except  for  my  husband,  who  sometimes  eats 
and  sleeps  at  home,  but  not  regularly.  It 
seems  I  am  inclined  to  get  ahead  of  my  story, 
for  I  am  about  to  relate  for  you  the  story  of 
our  wedding  trip  to  Boston.  We  must  take 
this  journey,  though  it  seemed  a  foolish  ex- 
pense. I  told  Hugh,  I'd  rather  ride  from  my 
father's  house  to  our  new  home  and  let  it  go 
at  that.  The  house  Hugh  had  rented  was  prac- 
tically ready  for  us  by  our  wedding  day,  for 
Hugh's  capable  mother  had  arranged  all  the 
furniture  and  fittings  nearly.  I  was  not  in  it. 
I  had  longed  for  the  fun  of  selecting  and  plac- 
ing the  things,  this  here  and  that  there,  but 
Hugh  and  his  mother  feathered  the  home  nest 
for  me.  Mother  Stunt  assured  us  everything 
would  be  finished  and  dinner  ready  for  us  the 
day  we  should  return.  So,  with  bag  and  bag- 
gage, with  rice  and  old  shoes  flying  after  us, 
we  were  off  for  Boston. 


V 

They  say,  you  will  never  really  know  a  man 
until  you  are  married  to  him.  During  that 
Boston  trip  I  came  to  know  Hugh  Stunt  better 
than  I  had  before.  He  had  insisted  on  this 
journey — he  had  planned  it  for  years  this  way. 
It  had  been  his  mother's  childhood  home  and 
to  him  Boston  was  a  sort  of  Mecca  to  which 
he  was  duty  bound  to  make  a  pilgrimage.  She 
had  filled  his  mind  with  reverent  curiosity 


HOW  AND   WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.   231 

about  the  city  and  he  talked  on  the  way  about 
how  we  should  visit  Bunker  Hill,  the  Old 
South  Church,  Longfellow's  home,  etc.,  and 
make  side  trips  to  the  many  shrines  of  Ameri- 
can patriotism  in  that  vicinity.  We  did.  We 
wore  ourselves  out  trailing  the  marks  of  the 
Historical  Society.  But  it  made  Hugh  happy  or 
seemed  to,  and  I  would  have  walked  my  legs 
off  to  make  him  pleased. 

As  you  may  well  assume,  I  had  never  trav- 
eled any  and  was  a  frightened  little  stranger 
to  the  ways  of  big  hotels  and  dining  car  ser- 
vice. I  could  not  read  or  understand  the  menu 
cards.  Ashamed  of  my  ignorance,  I  insisted 
that  Hugh  should  order  for  us  both,  and  I  was 
always  pleased  with  what  he  selected.  I  see 
from  his  story  I  made  a  mistake  there.  I 
should  have  made  a  critical  selection.  I 
should  have  returned  by  a  well  reprimanded 
waiter  certain  dishes  not  quite  up  to  my  liking 
and  caused  the  chef  to  know  of  my  presence — 
the  whole  hotel  management  to  realize  that  the 
roof  covered  at  that  moment  a  real  American 
epicure,  viz :  Gabrielle  Stunt,  newlywed ! 

At  this  distance  from  that  week  or  more  of 
our  honeymoon  trip  I  can  safely  say  I  was  in- 
fatuated with  my  husband  and  I  am  sure  he 
was  with  me.  It  was  the  passionate  physical 
climax  of  our  year  of  courtship.  We  were 
drunk  on  love.  I  cannot  deal  with  all  the 
sacred  details  of  those  days — I  cannot  lay  bare 
what  would  show  the  intensity  of  my  bus- 
band's  feelings  for  me,  and  how  intense  pas- 


232  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

sion  was  followed  by  what  seemed  like  fits  of 
revulsion. 

I  could  not  understand.  I  knew  nothing  of 
men.  Why  I  was  the  sweetest  thing  on  earth 
one  moment  and  not  worth  speaking  to  the 
next,  I  could  not  make  out.  What  ailed  my 
husband?  I  think  now  he  had  several  "brain 
storms"  on  that  trip.  One  day  for  example, 
we  went  to  the  beach,  Nahant  I  think  it  was, 
and  presently  we  found  ourselves  out  on  the 
white  sands  alone.  My  husband  sat  there,  look- 
ing as  glum  as  an  owl,  for  an  hour  or  more 
without  saying  a  word.  I  always  appreciate 
people  who  have  that  saving  sense  of  humor — 
people  who  can  find  something  bright  in  every 
situation,  no  matter  how  dark  it  may 
seem.  My  Hugh  seems  to  be  lacking  in  the 
bump  of  humor. 

I  let  him  sit  there  a  long  time  saying  nothing, 
just  looking  at  him,  to  see  how  long  he  would 
keep  it  up.  Finally  I  insisted  on  knowing  what 
was  the  matter  with  him.  He  blamed  his  pet- 
tish conduct  on  the  want  of  sleep.  I  know  it 
now,  but  I  did  not  then — my  husband  was  suf- 
fering from  the  reaction  of  having  all  that  I 
was,  mentally  and  physically. 

It  seems  to  me  now  as  I  look  back  over  the 
years  I  have  been  a  wife,  that  someone  must 
have  understood  men  very  well  when  the  laws 
of  the  monogamous  marriage  system  were  es- 
tablished. The  psychology  of  sex  is  such,  that 
the  satiated  husband  is  quite  a  different  in- 
dividual from  the  eager  and  expectant  lover, 


HOW   AND   WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.   233 

whose  every  thought  is  to  find  favor.  One 
would  have  thought  my  husband  as  a  doctor, 
would  have  known  all  this,  and  instead  of  play- 
ing the  part  of  a  sulky  child,  he  could  have 
taught  me — well,  instead  of  condemning  me  for 
my  loving  ignorance. 

It  seemed  strange  to  me  why  a  husband  could 
not  relax  and  be  natural.  Why  he  could  not 
sleep  in  the  presence  of  his  wife.  Hugh  acted 
so  strangely  I  was  frightened.  I  thought  of  a 
thousand  foolish  things.  I  even  caught  myself 
wondering  if  I  had  been  such  a  disappointment 
to  him  that  he  had  thoughts  of  suicide.  I 
dared  not  leave  him.  Remember  I  was  young, 
inexperienced  and — desperately  in  love. 

That  evening  after  dinner  we  were  in  our 
room. 

"Oh,  do  go  away  and  amuse  yourself.  I 
must  sleep,"  he  blurted  at  me. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  I  asked. 

"Do?  For  God's  sake,  do  anything  you  like, 
just  so  you  let  me  get  some  rest, ' '  and  he  paced 
about  the  room  as  if  distracted. 

What  do  you  think  of  all  this  for  conduct  of 
a  new  husband,  ten  years  the  senior  of  his 
young  wife?  Are  any  of  the  charges  he  makes 
against  me  other  than  the  mistake  of  loving 
intensely  and  due  to  a  young  girl's  ignorance 
of  men  and  the  world?  My  husband  engaged 
the  room  next  ours  and  went  to  bed.  I,  the 
wife  of  less  than  a  week,  was  banished.  The 
first  two  or  three  nights  of  our  wedded  life, 


234  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

my  husband  could  not  be  content  unless  his 
arm  was  a  pillow  for  my  head.  In  less  than  a 
week  he  had  to  have  a  separate  room. 

That  night  I  cried  myself  to  sleep. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  I  married  a  neu- 
rotic, but  I  did  not  know  it  then.  I  was  roman- 
tic and  dramatic.  If  my  husband  did  not  want 
me  I  would  go  home.  I  awoke  in  the  early 
hours  of  the  morning  and  thought  I  would 
dress  and  pack  my  things  and  return  home 
alone.  I  crept  to  the  door  between  the  rooms 
and  tried  the  lock.  It  opened  and  peeping 
through  I  saw  my  husband  sleeping  sweetly. 
All  my  resolution  vanished.  I  could  not  leave 
him.  May  be  he  was  sick,  though  I  believed 
it  temper.  I  went  in  and  sat  down  on  the  foot 
of  his  bed.  The  stir  I  made  woke  him. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  roared  at 
me,  as  if  I  had  been  a  burglar  going  through 
his  trousers  for  his  coin. 

I  meant  to  tell  him  I  was  going  home,  but 
instead  I  begged  him  not  to  drive  me  away. 
I  should  have  been  strong — I  was  weak.  I 
cried  again.  Suddenly  he  grabbed  me  and 
pulled  me  into  the  bed  with  him,  calling  me 
his  sweetheart  wife,  begging  my  forgiveness 
and  so  on  till  the  morning  sun  brightened  our 
windows  and  chased  away  the  cloud  of  young 
newly  weds'  first  quarrel. 

I  am  wiser  now.  though  Hugh  don't  seem  to 
know  it.  What  I  should  have  done  is  this:  I 
should  have  played  off.  When  hubby  wanted 
to  be  left  alone,  I  should  have  put  on  my  best 


HOW  AND   WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.   235 

hat  and  frock,  along  with  my  prettiest  smile 
and  walked  the  hotel  lobby,  the  parlors,  the 
conservatory.  I  should  have  met  other  people, 
other  couples,  other  men.  I  should  have  said, 
"Hugh  dear,  you  need  sleep  this  afternoon,  or 
this  evening,  so  I  am  going  for  a  walk  in  the 
Common.  I  may  do  the  Gardens,  and  out  to 
Copley  Square  and  back.  Just  you  be  easy. 
I'll  amuse  myself." 

Girls,  take  my  experience  as  a  lesson.  Don't 
let  your  husbands  imagine  you  think  they  are 
gods.  Men  like  * '  clinging  vines ' '  all  right  but 
not  as  a  steady  diet.  Men  want  most  the  love 
they  haven't  got.  They  are  very  solicitous 
about  what  they  are  not  sure  of.  Don't  let 
them  get  too  cock-sure  of  you.  It  palls  on 
them. 

At  twenty-nine  I  am  going  to  change,  on  oc- 
casions, from  being  a  "clinging  vine"  and  be 
a  bramble  bush.  Men  need  a  few  scratches  it 
seems  to  teach  them  to  appreciate. 

We  came  home  from  Boston  to  find  our  new 
home  all  ready  and  waiting.  Our  mothers  had 
joined  hands  to  complete  the  details  and  we 
sat  down  to  our  first  meal  with  perfect  appoint- 
ments. 

Then  we  began  to  live. 


VI. 

I  had  my  next  big  lesson  in  neurotic  husbands 
the  day  after  we  got  home.  Being  anxious  to 
please  and  to  prepare  just  what  would  suit 
Hugh's  taste  best,  I  'phoned  to  him  to  know 


236  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

what  he  would  like  for  dinner.  I  was  even 
then  a  good  cook  and  to  have  nice  dinners  was 
something  I  should  take  great  pride  in.  I  had 
heard  the  way  to  a  man's  heart  is  through  his 
stomach,  and  I  knew  good  cooking  was  an 
important  essential  in  successful  marriage. 

I  have  learned  since  then,  men  will  say 
things,  both  to  their  wives  and  to  others,  over 
the  telephone,  that  they  would  not  say  face  to 
face.  As  a  promoter  of  rudeness  and  ill  man- 
ners the  telephone  is  a  great  success.  What 
do  you  suppose  my  husband  said  when  I 
'phoned  to  know  what  he  wanted  for  dinner? 

"Get  whatever  you  damn  please  and  don't 
bother  me  about  it, ' '  he  shouted  angrily. 

Foolishly  I  went  at  once  to  the  office  and  had 
it  out  with  him.  What  I  should  have  done  is 
this :  I  should  have  said,  ' '  All  right  Mr.  Hugh, 
I'll  do  just  that  and  if  it  don't  suit  you,  see  to 
it  that  you  say  nothing." 

He  made  such  an  ado  about  being  bothered 
to  tell  what  he  liked  that  I  tried  getting  things 
myself.  Sometimes  he  was  pleased ;  often  not. 
When  anything  pleased  him  he  had  nothing  to 
say,  but  he  did  not  hesitate  to  express  his  dis- 
pleasure when  things  did  not  suit  him.  When 
everything  was  just  right,  nothing  said — taken 
as  a  matter  of  course.  Silence  was  the  only 
praise  I  got.  The  least  detail  at  fault  and  I 
heard  about  it  in  good  strong  terms. 

Often  I  would  fix  up  something  especially 
nice,  thinking,  "Hugh  will  like  this  and  com- 
pliment me  on  it."  When  he  came  home,  he 


HOW  AND  WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.  237 

gobbled  it  down  without  a  word.  I  wondered 
if  all  men  were  so  heartless. 

Day  by  day,  I  worked  away,  alone  from 
morning  till  night  and  often  when  calls  de- 
manded, all  or  half  the  night  I  waited  on  his 
return.  After  dinner  he  would  go  to  his  "den" 
for  an  hour  or  two,  then  to  bed.  Still  when  I 
wanted  his  company  what  little  time  he  was  at 
home,  I  became  a  nuisance.  So  I  put  a  crimp 
on  the  den  business.  I  moved  in  myself. 

When  in  the  course  of  time  the  bills  for 
meats  especially  seemed  to  run  too  high  and 
Hugh  said  we  must  be  more  economical,  I  said, 
* '  Very  well,  you  will  just  order  what  you  want 
and  I  will  cook  it.  I  seem  to  be  just  a  cook 
about  here  anyway." 

When  a  month  or  so  later,  I  pointed  out  to 
him  that  his  bills  were  running  higher  than 
mine  had,  what  do  you  suppose  he  said? 

"By  George,  this  high  cost  of  living  is  get- 
ting fierce,  isn't  it?" 

Not  a  word  of  apology  or  suggestion  that  I 
had  done  or  was  doing  well.  Not  a  word  of 
admission  that  he  was  not  as  careful  a  buyer 
as  I  had  been.  I  do  not  believe  there  ever  was 
a  particle  of  room  in  Hugh's  head  for  a  word 
of  self-reproach. 

My  whole  life  has  come  to  be  regulated  by 
the  question  mark  of  dollars.  I  dare  not 
breathe  without  considering  the  cost.  If  my 
sisters  visit  me,  I  am  afraid  Hugh  will  begrudge 
what  they  eat.  If  I  went  ahead  and  did  things 
socially  or  otherwise,  I  was  called  into  account 


238  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

because  of  the  expense  incurred.  Now  I  am 
held  up  to  the  disapproval  of  the  whole  world 
because  I  am  a  "clinging  vine."  It  is  a  beau- 
tiful lesson,  a  perfect  clinical  study  of  hysteria. 

I  have  made  my  sacrifices,  but  I  have  not 
boasted  of  them.  I  have  loved  to  excess  and 
that  is  my  great  error.  I  have  come  to  the 
point  where  I  can  appreciate  the  philosophy  of 
the  Stoic,  who  holds  it  unwise  to  have  any  very 
vital  affections.  I  should  have  kept  myself  in 
the  attitude  of  indifference — quiet,  sane  indif- 
ference. I  should  have  said  to  my  Hugh, ' '  Now 
go  along  your  own  way.  When  you  want  to  be 
alone  I  will  find  other  company.  Study  your 
cases,  chase  your  career;  it  does  not  interest 
me." 

To  such  men  as  my  husband,  happiness  from 
day  to  day  is  nothing.  They  do  not  live  now 
and  here.  The  lesson  of  the  hour  is  lost.  It 
is  fame,  fortune  or  some  hoped  for  future,  often 
not  to  be  attained,  that  absorbs  all  their  minds. 
It  is  not  what  they  have  that  makes  them 
happy;  it  is  the  struggle  for  what  they  have 
not. 

Gabrielle  was  earnestly  courted.  Hours  and 
hours  spent  in  seeking  her,  but  once  married, 
she  is  put  in  a  home  and  forgotten,  except  at 
meal  time  or  when  needed  to  satisfy  that  great 
demand  of  men's  nature,  other  than  for  food 
or  shelter — the  demands  of  sex. 

Gabrielle  wants  happiness  now  from  day  to 
day,  and  because  she  does,  she  is  totally  lack- 
ing in  the  conception  of  her  husband's  studi- 


HOW  AND   WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.   239 

ous  nature  and  the  demands  of  his  profession. 
She  wants  a  real  home  and  wants  to  hear  the 
music  of  children's  voices  in  it,  but  she  is  for- 
bidden because  her  husband  wants  sometime 
or  other,  to  take  a  post  graduate  course  in  Eu- 
rope. She  wants  to  receive  and  be  received 
by  many  friends  and  neighbors  but  her  hus- 
band forbids,  because  he  wants  to  stay  at  home 
and  to  be  quiet,  to  study,  to  pore  over  big 
books  of  science. 

Hugh  lacks  a  proper  conception  of  his  wife 's 
hunger  for  happiness  and  her  social  needs. 


VII. 

Almost  anyone  at  all  skilled  in  the  use  of 
platitudes  can  write  a  high  sounding  essay  on 
the  economic  aspects  of  marriage.  It  is  un- 
safe to  draw  conclusions  from  any  experience 
too  closely  associated  with  our  own  lives.  We 
cannot  get  away  from  our  own  prejudices.  It 
would  not  be  fair  for  me  to  judge  all  men  by 
the  few  samples  with  whom  I  have  been  closely 
associated — my  father  or  my  Hugh  for  instance. 
It  would  not  be  fair  for  men  to  judge  all 
women  by  the  few  samples  each  had  happened 
to  run  across.  A  few  deductions  may  be  safely 
made  however,  I  firmly  believe,  and  I  will  make 
them  as  bravely  as  I  can. 

A  doctor  who  is  obliged  to  make  his  living 
and  his  saving  for  the  rainy  day,  from  the  daily 
grind  of  general  practice,  should  not  be  dream- 
ing of  research  work,  great  scientific  discover- 
ies and  professional  fame.  He  must  keep  busy 


240  WAYSIDE  EXPEBIENCES. 

curing  the  stomach  aches,  coughs  and  other 
little  mean  everyday  human  ills  that  make  up 
the  bulk  of  all  professional  activity.  Also  he 
must  be  just  as  keen  to  collect  his  bills  and 
keep  his  credit  good  as  he  is  to  treat  the  sick 
successfully.  If  he  has  an  incurable  desire  to 
do  research  work,  and  has  recognized  ability 
as  an  original  research  worker,  he  should  con- 
nect himself  with  an  institution  where  such 
skill  is  needed  and  paid  for. 

My  Hugh  has  failed,  though  he  says  he  is 
made  of  this  stuff  researchers  must  have  in 
them — failed  because  he  has  spent  all  his  ener- 
gy trying  to  live  his  wife 's  life  for  her.  I  have 
shown  you  how  he  has  lived  my  life.  I  have 
told  you  the  God 's  truth,  sparing  neither  of  us. 
What  could  have  hindered  a  strong  man  from 
attaining  his  ends  in  spite  of  anything?  It  all 
depends  upon  his  attitude.  My  husband  ex- 
pected the  world  to  come  seeking  him;  he 
seemed  to  wait  on  being  discovered.  He 
thinks  he  should  be  recognized  as  "my  father's 
son."  Success  does  not  seek  us — we  must 
chase  after  it,  run  after  it  and  grasp  it.  Dr. 
Sam  Smith  does  things.  Dr.  Hugh  Stunt  waits. 
To  get  on  the  surgical  staff  Dr.  Sam  courted 
and  cultivated  the  people  he  needed,  the  men 
and  women  of  the  official  boards.  He  got  the 
tools  he  needed  and  somehow  learned  to  use 
them.  He  pushed  his  way  in.  Dr.  Hugh 
would  not  do  this.  It  was  beneath  his  dignity. 
He  waited  for  the  committees  to  come  begging 
him — kneeling  to  him — and  he  has  waited  in 


HOW  AND  WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.  241 

vain.  Now  he  tells  us  Gabrielle  is  to  blame 
because  he  is  not  recognized. 

I  have  tried  to  get  him  out  among  people.  I 
tried  to  keep  the  social  standing  we  needed, 
and  he  says  we  wasted  hundreds  of  evenings. 
This  he  calls  balderdash  and  rot.  The  long  and 
short  of  it  is,  Dr.  Sam  could  deliver  the  goods 
and  Dr.  Hugh  could  not.  One  has  initiative 
and  self-reliance ;  the  other  is  a  victim  of  brain 
fag  and  flabby  nerves.  One  can  dig  things  out 
for  himself;  the  other  must  be  taught  by  rote 
and  by  rule.  One  is  -a  natural  mechanic,  and 
has  well  trained  muscles;  the  other  could  not 
make  a  chicken  coop  or  scarcely  drive  a  nail. 

I  am  not  discrediting  Dr.  Sam's  wife;  she 
has  carried  her  end  but  Sam  would  have  done 
just  as  well  had  he  married  me,  and  I  am  sure 
Mrs.  Sam  would  not  have  done  any  better  than 
I  have,  had  she  married  my  Hugh  with  the  re- 
sponsibility of  his  making  on  her  hands.  Doc- 
tors are  not  good  diagnosticians  of  their  own 
cases,  and  Dr.  Hugh  has  failed  in  his  diagnosis. 
It  is  a  case  of  hypertrophy  of  the  ego ! 

Dr.  Sam  little  realized,  when  he  so  gallantly 
credited  all  his  success  to  his  wife,  what  a 
thrust  he  was  giving  me.  Dr.  Hugh  was  itch- 
ing to  find  some  excuse  for  himself  and  how 
eagerly  he  clutched  it.  What  made  the  dif- 
ference ?  Ha !  the  wife !  Eureka !  and  with  the 
cry  of  Archimedes  on  his  lips,  he  would  have 
run  home  naked  I  suppose,  had  he  been  at  the 
bath  as  was  the  Greek,  for  he  had  found  the 
cause  of  his  failure ! 


242  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

It  happens  that  I  am  more  or  less  confiden- 
tial with  Mrs.  Dr.  Sam,  or  she  is  with  me.  She 
tells  me  she  just  had  to  look  after  Dr.  Sam's 
ties,  clothes,  etc.,  for  he  is  so  careless  about  his 
personal  appearance,  that  she  feared  he  would 
discredit  himself.  She  envies  me,  she  says,  my 
husband  of  such  careful  personal  habits  as  to 
dress  and  appearance. 

So  I  could  go  on  analyzing  and  comparing, 
but  to  what  end?  Could  I  illustrate  even  by 
contrast  what  is  a  successful  marriage?  Can 
I  throw  any  more  light  on  the  economics 
of  wedlock?  Personally  if  Hugh  thought 
so,  I  should  say  he  had  done  fairly  well. 
He  has  three  times  the  average  income  of 
doctors  in  general;  he  is  looked  upon  as 
a  good  doctor  and  his  families  stick  to  him 
as  well  as  to  any  doctor.  He  carries  all  the 
life  insurance  he  needs  to  carry.  If  he  should 
die,  I  am  sure  I  could  manage  very  well.  I 
have  two  trades — I  am  a  good  housekeeper  and 
I  can  teach  music.  We  have  a  beautiful  home 
and  have  kept  out  of  debt.  It  is  easy  to  see 
so  many  much  worse  off  than  we  are,  that  it 
does  not  discourage  me  to  see  the  few  who  are 
better  off. 

Dr.  Hugh  has  failed  in  some  ways.  He  is 
dissatisfied  with  himself  but  he  thinks  he  is 
finding  fault  with  me.  He  is  too  egotistical 
to  take  the  blame  to  himself.  He  is  not  the 
father  of  children ;  he  does  not  respect  his  wife, 
though  he  admits  he  still  loves  me.  He  does 


HOW  AND   WHY  I  FAILED  AS  A  WIFE.   243 

not  hesitate  to  make  what  seems  to  me  untruth- 
ful statements  and  criticisms. 

It  is  never  too  late  to  mend — to  change ;  our 
relationship  is  not  fixed.  If  this  amounts  to 
an  irreconcilable  incompatibility,  the  relation- 
ship can  be  easily  broken.  Much  as  I  love  my 
husband,  it  cannot  be  forever  a  one-sided  love. 
I  will  not  be  the  drag  that  hinders  this  con- 
scientious husband's  professional  ambitions. 
If  these  ambitions  come  before  home,  wife  and 
well  born  children,  then  such  a  husband  should 
not  have  these  things  that  most  men  count  most 
worthy.  To  such  as  have  such  ignoble  prompt- 
ings of  ambition,  there  awaits  a  Waterloo,  just 
as  it  awaited  another  who  was  besotted  with 
ambition. 

If  Dr.  Hugh  Stunt  or  his  like  can  find  any 
comfort  in  my  side  of  the  story  he  and  they 
are  welcome  to  it.  It  is  a  fatal  error  to  mis- 
interpret a  devoted  love — it  may  be  an  error  to 
show  such  a  love.  I  have  confessed  my  want 
of  wisdom. 

If  my  good  intentions  have  paved  the  way  to 
the  hell  of  domestic  tragedy,  then  I  must  bear 
my  fate  with  what  fortitude  I  may.  It  all  be- 
longs as  I  have  said  to  the  domain  of  the 
psychology  of  sex — the  unsolved  riddle  of  the 
human  world. 

If  the  test  of  love  is  sacrifice,  I  have  stood 
that  test. 

If  the  anchor  of  love  is  appreciation,  I  may 
be  drifting,  for  I  do  not  believe  I  have  been  ap- 


244  WAYSIDE  EXPERIENCES. 

predated  thus  far  as  some  husbands  would 
have  appreciated  me. 

Anyway  I  feel  better  to  have  told  you  how  I 
feel  about  it. 

I  wonder  what  Hugh  will  think  when  he 
reads  this? 


The  Epilogue. 


Some  there  were,  from  among  the  throng  of 
travelers  along  Life's  great  Highway,  who  did 
pause  to  examine  the  burdens  which  their  fel- 
lows bore.  Though  each  one  called  his  burden 
Experience,  this  examination  revealed  the  di- 
verse and  varied  character  of  their  contents. 

Some  were  gross  and  foul,  throwing  out  the 
fetid  odor — the  stench  of  crime,  disease  and 
misspent  lives.  Others  were  of  pain,  sickness 
and  sorrow  caused  by  the  mistakes  of  ignorance 
rather  than  intent.  Others  still,  were  of  sac- 
rifices, sorrows,  anxieties,  cares,  and  all  that 
which  is  offered  on  the  altar  of  Love. 

Again  there  were  some  made  up  of  disap- 
pointments and  grief;  memories  of  broken 
ties;  little  ones  laid  in  untimely  graves;  lovers 
who  were  unfaithful;  wives  gone  astray;  hus- 
bands who  forgot  the  holy  vows;  and  indeed 
it  seems  that  some  one  traveler  or  another  car- 
ried with  his  burden  of  Experience  all  that  was 
possible  for  the  human  race  to  suffer  and  en- 
dure or  enjoy.  For  it  is  true  not  all  these 
burdens  were  of  grief  and  regret ;  indeed  some 
were  memories  of  great  happiness. 

But  time  is  fleeting  and  sunshine  soon  passes 
away.  The  ways  of  life  lead  always  toward 
the  night.  He  is  wise  indeed  who  has  oppor- 


246  THE  EPILOGUE. 

tunity  to  examine  the  Experience  of  others  and 
thereby  profit.  Judgment  seems  to  be  the 
last  development  of  the  human  soul  and  Ex- 
perience is  the  only  food  that  appears  to  nour- 
ish it.  If  in  pausing — you  and  I — to  examine 
the  burdens  laid  bare  in  this  little  record,  we 
add  anything  to  our  faculties  of  wise  judge- 
ment our  labor  will  not  be  in  vain.  It  is  better 
that  we  carry  on  our  way  to  the  end  of  the 
journey  Experiences  of  joy  rather  than  of  sor- 
row. It  is  better  to  take  the  right  ro*ad  than 
the  wrong.  Here  are  a  few  guideboards  that 
point  out  the  roads  we  should  not  and  need  not 
take.  If  you  have  read  them  carefully,  I  pray 
Heaven  speed  you  on  your  way  with  smiles  and 
song — Peace  is  waiting  to  welcome  you  at 

THE  END. 


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